Line of Succession

“As soon as you’ve got things moving I’ll have Perry Hearn call a background press conference for an off-the-record briefing. But we’ll want the a

Bee sat weak; he felt debilitated. “Mr. President, I’ve got no choice but to agree with you in principle. But what happens if we try this and it fails? The cost could be a divided country—far more divided than it is now.”

“What difference is there between that and what’11 happen if we don’t try? A Pyrrhic victory for last-ditch defenders of the Constitution?”

“But we’re going to have to fight the most powerful vested interest of all—inertia.”

“I’m glad you said ‘we,’ Andy.”

“And what about the Supreme Court? Suppose they strike it down?”

“On what grounds? Congress has every right to amend its own laws.”

“But the Constitution goes to considerable lengths to put rigid limits on the term of office of a President. Essentially you’re asking the Congress to allow you to perpetuate yourself in office beyond your elected term. The Court would have to look at it that way.”

“I don’t think so. I’m only asking to be held over as interim executive until the elected President shows up to qualify. The judges on the Court understand reality when they see it.”

“There’s another reality, Mr. President. Suppose we never get Cliff back. Suppose he’s killed.”

“Then I expect I’d have another four years in office, Andy. I think that’s clear to everybody I’ve talked to. Naturally you’ve got to weigh that. But it’s still a choice between that and Hollander. Everything comes right back down to that.”

The President sat forward and put both elbows on the desk. “I wouldn’t worry about the Court if I were you. I’ve already consulted with the Chief Justice. I know that’s considered bad form but I had to cover that flank. The legal position the Court will probably take is simple enough. Congress has the power to provide for a vacancy in the Presidency by any method it chooses, so long as the candidate qualifies according to Constitutional basics—age, place of birth, that kind of thing. If Congress wanted to it could appoint the third assistant postmaster of Bend, Oregon to head up the line of succession. I can see how there might be a constitutional argument if I’d completed two terms in office, but I haven’t. And I’m not proposing that my present term of office be extended. The new law won’t take effect until one minute past noon on the twentieth day of January, and at that time I’ll have retired. It’ll be a new administration. I’ll simply be walking out the back door and back in through the front door, but it satisfies the legal requirements.”

“Will it satisfy the people’s requirements, Mr. President? Will the people accept it?”

“I hope they will if it’s explained to them by men like you, Andy.”

A beat of silence, and Bee dragged himself out of his fatigue. “I’d like to be very blunt for a minute.”

“Please do.”

“If the law can be changed to allow anybody to become the next President, why does it have to be you?”

“Because I expect I’m the only one who can rally enough support. Do you think if you went to the Congress and asked them to elect you to the Presidency they’d do it in forty-eight hours?”

“No,” Bee admitted. “I’m sure they wouldn’t. It would be far too raw. But it’s pretty raw to do it your way too.”

“But my way is the only way that has a chance of succeeding. I’m the only man alive who’s got the power to lead this fight—to swing the support of both parties in both houses. And the only one who knows what’s going on in the Executive branch. Now I’m being just as blunt with you. It’s a question of practicalities, Andy. You can’t afford to give consideration to my ambitions or your misgivings. The only thing you can do is decide whether you’d rather have me or Wendy Hollander sitting in this chair come Thursday afternoon.”

11:40 P.M.North African Time Lime went through to the after cabin. Chad Hill sat by a portable radio. Binaud was somewhere up on the dock or in the bar across the road, being watched from the shadows by three agents; Binaud understood that if Ben Krim tipped to anything Binaud’s head would roll. The gold sovereigns were the carrot on Binaud’s stick; he probably would go along with it. If he didn’t Lime would lose another round. All he could do was hope.

Chad Hill was listening to an a

“Oh Christ,” Lime said abruptly. He stared at Hill. “Ben Krim’s bound to be there isn’t he. And there’s still a pickup order out on him from Finland. We’ve got to cancel it or they’ll grab him in Geneva.”

Hill said mildly, “I already took care of that.”

It was a good thing somebody around here was using his head. Wordlessly Chad Hill handed a paper-wrapped sandwich to Lime. He sat down and ate it, getting crumbs on his knees, listening to the radio.

“… prisoners will be sequestered under heavy guard at an unspecified hotel until further instructions are received from the kidnappers of Clifford Fairlie.…”

Of course they would have Ben Krim on the scene. To have a look firsthand. He probably had phony press credentials; Sturka had what seemed to be an endless supply of expertly forged documents for all occasions.

“Anything from down south yet?”

“No. And we’re not likely to get much. Too many oil company planes going back and forth all the time out there. Who’s going to remember whether or not they heard Binaud’s PBY go overhead four nights ago?”

But it had to be tried. If they lost Ben Krim it was the only lead they would have left.

There was coffee from Binaud’s galley. Lime drank two cups greedily. He drank it too hot and burned his tongue. “If we assume Ben Krim’s in Geneva now it’ll take him at least five hours to get here. Probably eight or ten—I don’t know of any direct co

He glanced at Chad Hill. The young man’s fingernails were chewed down to the quick.

“I need air.” Lime left the cabin and made his way abovedecks and stood on the fishing deck by the transom looking at the gloomy lights of the tavern and the quiet wave crests and the plentiful stars. The Med was calm tonight and it was quite warm. Not hot but pleasant.

He checked the time. It was past midnight. A new day: Tuesday. In Washington it was still Monday evening. It brought up a fine point of interest. Suppose they recovered Fairlie. Suppose they recovered him at eleven o’clock in the morning Algerian time. Thursday. Suppose they rushed him to the American Embassy in Madrid or Tangier and the Ambassador administered the oath of office on the stroke of noon. By then it would be only six in the morning Washington time. Who would be President then? Fairlie or Brewster?

Here I am counting angels on pinheads.

TUESDAY,

JANUARY 18

6:30 A.M. North African Time Someone was shaking Peggy by the shoulder. “Go down and get him ready.”