“In the councils of government,” President Dwight D. Eisenhower droned, “we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist. We must never let the weight of this combination endanger our liberties or democratic processes.”
“The son of a bitch,” Adrian Van Ness said. “He'll make me a registered Democrat yet.”
It was January 7, 1961. Dick Stone and Cliff Morris were in Adrian's office, along with a half-dozen other Buchanan executives, watching Dwight Eisenhower's farewell address to the nation. General Curtis LeMay had told them not to miss it. He said the word was out that Ike was going to get even with the Air Force for defying him on the Warrior bomber.
“That idea is going to haunt us,” Adrian said. “Every loudmouth who wants to take a cheap shot at the aircraft business will use Ike as his authority.”
Cliff was inclined to be skeptical. “Our guys are in the White House and he isn't,” he said. “Isn't that what counts?”
“Let's see if they're our guys before we start celebrating,” Adrian said.
Again, Cliff put Adrian's attitude down to his WASP prejudices against seeing an Irish-American win the presidency. Cliff was equally unimpressed by Dick Stone's loathing for Kennedy. So he wasn't the world's most considerate lover. Cliff suspected a lot of Dick's antipathy was ethnic rivalry. He was sore because a Jew didn't get there first.
The prospect of a billion-dollar contract for the Warrior was not the only reason Cliff liked Jack Kennedy. His election also had an unexpected warming influence on his marriage. Suddenly there was this wonderful idealist in the White House, telling everyone in Churchillian accents that it was time to do battle for freedom around the world. Suddenly the Warrior, even the Scorpion, did not seem quite so tainted by Adrian Van Ness's amoral methods.
Naturally, Cliff did not say a word to Sarah about Kennedy's sex life. He had stopped sharing almost everything like that with her. He seldom had anything to say about his work, period. She seldom asked about it. Their marriage was polite, tranquilâand empty.
Cliff did not worry about it very much. He was working too hard. There were always some congressmen or their aides in town to inspect the Warrior and enjoy the pleasures of Los Angeles, escorted by several of Buchanan's willing secretaries. Adrian supplemented midweek entertainment with weekend cruises aboard an ultramodern 150-foot yacht, the SS
Rainbow.
On the night of JFK's inauguration, Cliff summoned Sarah and the kids around the TV screen to watch the news reports of Kennedy's speech. He had heard it in full at workâeveryone was hoping he might say something about the Warrior. Cliff was genuinely moved by Kennedy's peroration, telling the world that a new generation of Americans was taking charge of the country, a generation that would pay any price, bear any burden, in the defense of freedom.
At work, everyone had cheered and slapped each other on the back, assuming that the price included a billion dollars for the Warrior. At home, hearing it again, the speech had a much more personal meaning. The hundreds of hours of boredom and fear in the
Rainbow Express
acquired purpose. Cliff Morris had helped to create this triumphant generation that was taking charge of the world. He held Sarah's hand and said: “Doesn't that make you proud of being an American?”
“Yes,” Sarah said. “I think I finally feel like one.”
Her expression reminded Cliff of the way she looked in England during the warâsimultaneously innocent and sexy. That night, as they went to bed, he reached out to her and she responded to his kiss in the old yearning way.
“Maybe we ought to try to forget some things I've saidâand you said,” Sarah whispered.
“That sounds great to me,” Cliff said.
For a little while they were lovers again.
In the morning at breakfast, Charlie asked Cliff if JFK was a better president
than Eisenhower. “He's better than Ike and Truman and Roosevelt,” Cliff said. “And maybe better than Lincoln and Washington and Jefferson too. He's going to tell the Russians where to go and he'll give us the money to build the greatest plane in the world.”
“The Warrior?” Charlie said. “Any chance of a ride in that thing, Dad?”
“Maybe.”
“I've made up my mind. I definitely want to be a pilot.”
Cliff glanced uneasily at Sarah, fearing the abrupt end of their newfound harmony. But she only smiled and said: “You'll change your mind a lot about what you want to be before you're twenty-one.”
Everything was possible in John F. Kennedy's America.
One week later, Cliff Morris sat in a plane to Washington, D.C., rereading with disbelief a story in the
Los Angeles. Times.
KENNEDY ADMINISTRATION CANCELS NEW BOMBER. With sarcasm dripping from every word, Adrian Van Ness had told him to find out what happenedâand see if there was any possibility of rescuing the situation. Buchanan had kept ten thousand workers on the payroll, sitting around doing almost nothing, while they waited for Kennedy to get elected and the billion for the bomber to arrive.
By four o'clock Cliff was in Curtis LeMay's office in the Pentagon listening to his bitter explanation. “It's the gang of Harvard whiz kids Kennedy's installed at the Pentagon,” he said. “They put the data into a fucking computer and it came out
m-i-s-s-i-l-e.
You won't believe these double-domed characters. They wear glasses eight inches thick and they're about thirty years old. They sit there telling Curtis LeMay he doesn't know what he's talking about.”
“I'm here to find out if we should lay off ten thousand workers tomorrow,” Cliff said. “It's costing us about ten million bucks a month to keep them playing cards and shooting craps on the assembly line.”
LeMay chomped on a cigar and growled: “You keep right on paying those guys. You can get it back from the contract. We're gonna fly that bomber. I don't give a goddamn what a bunch of fucking Ph.D's who never saw a war say. We'll go up to the hill and get it this spring. You ever met Carl Venison?”
Cliff shook his head. He had heard of the legendary chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, who was now eighty years old. “Truman wanted to make him secretary of defense,” LeMay said. “Old Carl turned him down. He said he'd rather run things from where he sat. He wants that fucking bomber. But the first thing you've got to do is build some of it in Georgia.”
“Why?” Cliff said.
“Because that spells j-o-b-s,” LeMay said.
No further explanation was necessary. It was obviously the Air Force's answer to
m-i-s-s-i-l-e-s.
“That's a big decision,” Cliff said. “I'll have to talk to Adrian Van Ness.”
“Talk fast. We haven't got a day to waste,” LeMay said. “While you're at it, talk to him about opening a plant in Oklahoma.”
“Why?”
“Because Bobby Kerr, the head of the Senate Finance Committee, is from
the fucking state. If necessary we'll throw in another Air Force base to make the bastard delirious.”
“Can I make the call from here?” Cliff said.
He sat down outside LeMay's office and called Adrian. He got the idea instantly. “We'll be ready and eager to open plants in Georgia and Oklahoma. The extraordinary size of the Warrior program will require that sort of decentralization. You might mention that there'll be a vast expansion in the future, when we go from the bomber to the supersonic transport.”
“I'll do that. In the meantime, ship me Dick Stone and a ton of data on the plane. We'll start selling it on Capitol Hill tomorrow morning.”
Dick arrived that night with the data. They headed for the White House, where their old crewmate Mike Shannon now had an office in the West Wing, in charge of Congressional liaison. The pintsized Shannon had become a scaled-down Jack Kennedy, complete with the haircut and one-button suit. Everything but a Boston accent. They adjourned to the Jockey Club, the best restaurant in Washington, and compared notes on the last fifteen years of their lives.
Shannon had married Teresa, the girl of his lovelorn
Rainbow Express
dreams and found out she was a nun. He had stashed her and four kids somewhere in Maryland. “How the hell is Lady Sarah?” Shannon asked Cliff. “You still getting it on with her?”
“About as much as you are with Sister Teresa,” Cliff lied. He could never resist being one of the boys. “Stone here's the only guy who's done it right. Still a bachelor.”
“That's because he's a Jewish atheist. No worries about sin,” Shannon said.
“Is that right?” Cliff asked, remembering Dick's fury over Amalie Borne.
“Just guilt. Jews don't even have to commit sins to feel guilty,” Dick said.
They finally got around to the bomber. Shannon explained it all very carefully to them. The president hated the idea of canceling it. He was Irish and a promise was a promise. But Robert McNamara, the secretary of defense, was not Irish in spite of his name. He had canceled the plane without clearing it with Kennedy. That had left the president in a very negative frame of mind.
“If you can get some support in Congress, you won't find anyone in the White House fighting you. Do you get the idea?” Shannon said.
“How about a little fighting in our favor?”
“I might manage some guerrilla stuff,” Shannon said, with a knowing grin.
“To the
Rainbow Express
,” Cliff said, raising his Scotch.
There was a split-second of hesitation before Shannon and Dick Stone raised their glasses. Cliff realized they were both remembering Schweinfurt. They were avoiding his eyes. Especially Navigator Shylock.
You son of a bitch, you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me.
Cliff almost shouted the words in his face.
Shannon inadvertently rescued them. “Jack wonders if you've still got that dame he met in L.A. on the payroll. Amalie Borne? Can you fix him up?”
Cliff smiled wryly at Dick. “Sure. If she's willing.”
“Let me know. We've got a back door to the White House Jackie hasn't found yet.”
At the hotel, Cliff got on the telephone to Adrian Van Ness, even though it was 4:30 A.M. in California. Could Amalie Borne be persuaded to spend another night with JFK?
“I don't think there's a woman alive who can resist the most powerful man in the world,” Adrian said. “Just in case, tell her she can buy any fur coat in the store at Bergdorf's if she keeps him contented.”
Cliff called Amalie at 7:45 A.M. the next day. “I'll be delighted to see your president,” Amalie cooed. “Tell him to call me about arrangements.”
Adrian was right, as usual. Where did that leave Dick Stone? Cliff decided to tough it out with him. At lunch he said: “I called your dream girl in New York. She said she'd be delighted to see JFK again.”
“I'm not surprised,” Stone said. “She collects examples of how low people can sink. Especially Americans.”
“I don't get it,” Cliff said, although to some extent he understood it all too well. It was not that different from Sarah's disgust with the way they did business overseas.
“She's in despair,” Dick said. “She lives in a state of despair.”
“She sure as hell doesn't act that way.”
“That's one of the interesting things about despair. I've been reading up on it. It's totally different from depression. It's liberating. Once you give up all hope, you're free to do anything.”
“Women are nuts,” Cliff said.
“Maybe we're the crazy ones. We just happen to be running the show,” Dick said.
Each day before Cliff hit the congressional trail, he called Sarah in Los Angeles. Each day he heard loneliness eating away the feelings they had rediscovered the night of Kennedy's inauguration. It was very confusing and upsetting. He was here in Washington because Jack Kennedy had broken his promise to build the Warrior. Covertly, he was helping the Kennedys sabotage McNamara to build a plane that the secretary of defense, theoretically Curtis LeMay's commander, had canceled. It was double-crosses inside double-crosses, with a touch of mutiny.
Maybe Dick Stone was right. Maybe they were the crazy ones. But the plane had to fly. Everything depended on it. Every day, Adrian Van Ness was on the telephone reminding him of that fact.
Sometimes Billy McCall flew in to join Cliff and Dick Stone to see a congressman or senator who was into airplanes and wanted to talk to the famous test pilot. At the end of the day they regrouped in Cliff's room at the Shoreham Hotel and considered how to entertain themselves for the evening. Frequently Mike Shannon joined them and recruited some girls from his little black Congressional liaison book for fun and games.