Leon Uris: A God In Ruins

“I have come to you speaking the truth. If you believe me, if you want what I want for the American civilization, for American decency, then we will carry the day.

“Good day, God bless you, and God bless America.”

Balancing a bucket of ice and a bottle of vodka and glasses, Rita backed her way into the guest room and closed the door behind her with her foot.

Greer sat on the bed, back against the headboard, watching another gathering of pundits on TV. Her face bore a rivulet of tears dripping off her nose and chin and carrying down the colors of her makeup. On the nightstand, a dead pint of vodka.

“I’m a fucking mess,” Greer wept.

“Mal told me he is plugged into Denver. They’ve called for volunteers to man the switchboards.”

((/^\ s. r

Quinn?

“He’s with Mal fixing a plan for the balance of the day. No press conference till tomorrow.”

Rita set the tray down, poured another for Greer and a double for herself. She left and came back from the bathroom with wet and dry towels, sat on the edge of the bed, and wiped Greer’s face as one might a kindergarten pupil.

“What about Duncan and Rae and Lisa?” Greer said, still weeping.

“We saw them before Quinn spoke to the nation. They’re with their Uncle Ben now. He’s a really nice man.”

“I’d better get my shit together,” Greer slurred. “Lemme see.

Too late to get back to Denver. Then ... I better be here in the morning. You and Mal pissed at me?”

“I knew Quinn wasn’t going to quit,” Rita said, “but I just got damned frightened for a moment. I’d better get my attitude straightened out. I’ll not live in fear.” “I, uh, got to work out some damage control..

. this can run out of control like a wildfire,” Greer said.

“Take a deep breath, Greer, and let’s get drunk.”

“Hey, two shiker sikasl”

“The first reports from Denver and DNC are not that bad.”

“Well, now,” Greer said, “we have thirty channels of talking head experts taken out of cold storage and given electric shocks to get their batteries surging. Frankly, I get my in-depth news from E! Channel and Comedy Central. Oh, that goddamn Quinn is a bastard.”

“How well I know.”

“He’s so wonderful,” Greer wept. “I called Warren and told him to shag ass and get the yacht up from Florida. I’m going to spend five million dollars on myself in Paris. Son of a bitch .. . we came so close. Now, I’ve got to leave pretty soon ... I mean, for all time.” Rita dabbed a new downpour of tears from Greer.

“I’m a fucking mess,” Greer repeated.

“I want you to know what a courageous thing you have done, Greer. It was the work of a genius. And it was overflowing with love. I think I know how much you love him.”

“I love you, too, Rita. Only a very secure woman would have left me alone with Quinn Patrick O’Connell. As I grew to love you more and more, it made things bearable for me.”

This was followed by another slug from the bottle, which Greer scarcely needed. The women embraced and hung onto each other. Greer was feather-light. Rita rocked her back and forth and let her blurt.

Rita fluffed some pillows and stretched Greer out and lay beside her so that she held Greer as her baby, and she stroked Greer’s head and whispered a Mexican lullaby.

“I love you both,” Greer managed.

A moment later there was a knock and the door was opened. There stood Quinn. Rita held her finger to her lips for him to be quiet.

“Some rioting has started,” Quinn said. “Birmingham. Chicago is simmering.”

“Hadn’t you better try to reach the President?” Rita asked.

“He knows what happened and how to reach me.”

“Quinn, I’m with you, man.”

WASHINGTON

Marine Corps Helicopter Number One swayed from its Camp David pod and swished urgently for Washington. The President tried his earphones and switched on his mike.

“It’s a miracle, Darnell,” Thornton said. “I’ve never believed in divine intervention because it doesn’t have a website or a printout. Can we get the election turned around?”

“A lot is going to take place in the next seventy-two hours. You’ll have to play it statesman and big daddy.”

“Darnell! The man has left us an opening!”

“You’ve walked into his openings before. Don’t even think nasty.””

The President picked up his White House phone. “Martha, this is the President. I want Jacob Turnquist and Hugh Mendenhall in the Oval Office, pronto. Better run down Lucas de Forest,” he said of the FBI director. “I want to meet with them in my study alongside the Oval Office.”

“Don’t you think we’d better have Pucky attend this meeting?”

“Do you know where she is?” Tomtree asked.

“Unless she’s away on a campaign speech, she pretty much locks herself in her suite at the White House,” Darnell said.

“As a matter of fact,” Thornton said, “keep her at the White House. I think it would be wise if she and I made several campaign appearances together.”

He looked away from Darnell, lifting the White House phone again.

Darnell became awed for trie thousandth time at how the Capitol rose from the dark and dazzled with white, blaring focus on the dome and the monuments. There, the White House ahead. A crowd was gathering in Lafayette Park over the street. What would they chant this night?

Marine Corps One touched down silkily. With neither dog nor wife to greet him, Tomtree stretched his long legs over the lawn toward the portico. “Here they come!”

“Mr. President.. .”

“Mr. President.. . will you tell us .. .”

He turned at the door and held up both hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, as soon as I’m fully briefed, I’ll have a statement for you.”

“Has Governor O’Connell tried to reach you?”

“How is this going to affect the outcome .. .”

“Mr. President, were you aware .. .”

Thornton disappeared inside. Darnell glanced down the driveway, where TV trucks and the cars of correspondents were hurtling themselves onto the grounds.

Jacob Turnquist was in place as Mendenhall, shirttail askew, entered the Oval Office with a stack of late data.

“Martha! Where the hell is Lucas de Forest?”

“Just got a cell call. He’ll be here in ten minutes.” $

Thornton nodded for her to leave and shut out the world.; He pointed at Mendenhall.

“The buzz words,” Hugh Mendenhall said, “are general confusion and

disbelief. Too early for any kind of reliable polls, bufcj the cable

stations are filled with constitutional experts, yottj know, the

musical-chair crowd. The only piece of hard information is that

O’Connell is not playing in Birmingham. The KKK is? burning a cross

before a Jewish-owned department store. One}

synagogue trashed in Atlanta and inner-city rumblings all over: Watts, Oakland, Harlem, Detroit, East Saint Louis.”

“All black?”

“Yes, sir, seems like the Muslim preachers are really trying to get them stirred up. While the new data is pouring in, I’m trying to canvas tomorrow’s newsprint editorials.”

“Are any in yet?”

“Yes, sir,” Mendenhall answered, and reluctantly passed a special edition of the New York Times.