Irving Wallace - The Man

“And so you found it necessary to dismiss Arthur Eaton? Why, Mr. President? Why, specifically, did you remove this veteran public servant from office?”

“Because I was determined to preserve our government’s system of checks and balances, which requires that our three branches-the executive, the legislative, and the judicial-remain separate and strong. I learned, and had proof of the fact, that the Secretary of State, with the approval of the legislative branch of our government, was attempting to usurp the powers of the Presidency and conduct the business of the White House from the offices of the Department of State. To save the Presidency, I had no choice but to get rid of him. I fired him. In retaliation, I presume, he and his associates impeached me.”

“Mr. President, since the memorable moment you took the oath of office, do you believe you have performed your tasks diligently, soberly, honestly, without prejudice, with consideration for the rights of all men and a sincere concern for the welfare of the United States, and have you attempted to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution and this democracy?”

“This I believe-I have tried. To the best of my ability I have tried, Mr. Manager.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

Douglass Dilman’s grip on the chair relaxed. He thought that he detected the slightest smile on Nat Abrahams’ face as Abrahams nodded at the bench, then turned and went back to the defense table.

Dilman had so concentrated on his friend’s questions that he had been unable to observe or evaluate the reaction to his replies in the silent, alert Senate Chamber.

But now the Chamber seemed to come alive, and then the Chief Justice’s gavel fell.

“The senators will be attentive. The counsel for the House of Representatives will proceed with his cross-examination.”

For the first time since assuming the Presidency, since his travail and then trial had begun, Douglass Dilman found himself face to face with the custodian of all the hatred that had been directed toward him.

Zeke Miller’s mocking gray eyes boldly met his own unblinking gaze. Miller’s veiny nostrils were dilated, and his mouth fixed in a crooked line. He hooked his thumbs into his lapel buttonholes, assumed his favorite spread-legged stance, and appeared to be inspecting his quarry with a huntsman’s pleasure.

Dilman’s shoulder and chest muscles involuntarily contracted, as if preparing for a blow. Warily, he waited.

“We-ll, Mr. President of the United States of America, I did not expect to see you come down among us. This is a surprise and a privilege for us, an historic occasion, and we welcome you, heartily welcome you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Manager.”

“However, at the risk of seeming downright inhospitable after your taking this trouble to ride to the Hill, I am afraid I must pose some questions that may give you discomfort, questions that your friend and counsel overlooked asking, in his blindfolded search for the truth about your behavior and competence. I hope you will be as tolerant of Zeke Miller’s questions, the questions the House has requested me to propound, as you were of your friend Nathan Abrahams’ questions.”

“I will do my best to be tolerant of your questions, Mr. Manager.”

“Well, now, I guess it would be fitting to take up the matters under review in the order your own friend and counsel arranged them. Would that be suitable to you, Mr. President of the United States?”

“As you wish, Mr. Manager.”

“Like perhaps starting with the youngest in your official family, and then reading from left to right. This boy of yours, Julian, who pledged himself with his blood to a terrorist program of violence against the elected government and who pledged himself to extract from all of us white people an eye for an eye-has he ever engaged in similar violence before?”

“No, not before, and not now either.”

“Well, I am not saying he did any grave violence, like his boss Hurley, I am only saying he pledged himself to do it, but didn’t get time to carry out his pledge because the able Attorney General of this country stamped out-despite your interference-these extremists, before your boy could march with them. You knew all along that your son Julian was a member of that subversive gang, didn’t you, Mr. Witness?”

“I have already denied, under oath, that I knew he was a member.”

“Forgive me, a slip. I didn’t mean to say that you ‘knew,’ only that you had ‘heard’ he was a member-I meant you knew because you’d heard. Who’d you hear that from?” A Turnerite?”

“Yes. From someone I later learned was a Turnerite.”

“Want to tell us who your informant was, Mr. Witness?”

“I see no point in that now. The Turnerites are disbanded. Their leader has been executed.”

“Am I to understand you won’t reveal to us the name of your Turnerite friend informant who tipped you off about Julian?”

“It would serve no useful purpose.”

“Okay. You keep your little secrets. Not important. Well, so you heard Julian was a Turnerite and you confronted him with the fact?”

“Yes.”

“Then, the first time Attorney General Kemmler demanded that you outlaw that vicious Group, you refused. You refused, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then, against the advice of the Attorney General, you got your Nigra lobbyist and tenant rent payer, Reverend Spinger, to talk privately with those kidnaper-murderers, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You had no tricky self-serving, family-protecting deals in mind, did you? Just acting on your own for the good of the country, eh?”

“Yes.”

“So, Mr. President, what we have is this-you heard your son was a Turnerite, true? You heard the Turnerites were a Communist, anti-Christian violence society, true? You tried to delay their being banned, true? You sent a Nigra personal friend to call them up and negotiate something in privacy, true? Is all of that true?”

“That much of it, yes, that much is true.”

“Then I say to you, Mr. President of the United States, I say Article II of the House impeachment-charging you with the high crime of violating the laws of the land by hindering justice against a subversive society-I say Article II is true.”

“I say it is not, Mr. Manager.”

“Then let the august Senate in its wisdom here on earth, and the Lord of all of us in Heaven, judge which of us speaks truth and which of us speaks falsehood. Let us proceed, as your friend and counsel has done, with Articles I and III. What have we here? Ah, Miss Wanda Gibson. Yes, we have heard Miss Gibson’s little tale on this stand today. You have a great and good friend in her, Mr. President. You won’t find many women so loyally ready to go to any ends or take any risk, ready to say anything, to protect someone who is not legally their own mate. Well, now, you’ve known our Miss Gibson intimately for five years?”

“I have known Miss Gibson for five years.”

“You have held her hand?”

“Yes.”

“You have embraced her?”

“Yes.”

“You have kissed her?”

“Yes.”

“You have done all of this for five years, sixty months, more than 240 weeks, but you have never illicitly touched her? Is that right, Mr. President?”

“Yes.”

“Yet, could I describe your relationship with her as a close one, a warm one?”

“You might. I think so.”

“Sure enough, we know you couldn’t keep away from her person very long. The first day you were moved out from under the same roof with her, to be President, you came hurrying back that night, thinking you’d given everyone the slip. You did run back to see Wanda Gibson the first night after you moved into the White House?”