The Parsifal Mosaic (63 page)

“He’s reliving it now” replied Berquist. “In a few minutes he’ll place a call to the mission in Geneva, and another unbelievable commitment will be made.… This, however, is only a minor example, one they’re working on this morning. Actually, as outrageous as it is, it’s insignificant compared with so many others. So many—so dangerous—so incredible.”

“Dangerous?”

“One voice overriding all others, entering unthinkable negotiations, processing agreements contrary to everything this nation supposedly stands for—agreements that would make an outraged Congress impeach me for even considering. But even that fact—and it
is
a fact—is insignificant. We can’t let the world know what he’s done. We’d be humiliated, a giant on its knees, begging forgiveness, and if it was not forthcoming there would be guns and bombs. You see, he’s put it all in writing.”

“Could he
do
that?”

“Not constitutionally, no. But he was the superstar. The uncrowned king of the republic had spoken, a god had given his word. Who questions kings or gods? The mere existence of such documents is the most fertile grounds on earth for international extortion. If we can’t quietly invalidate those negotiations—diplomatically void them by anticipated congressional rejection—they
will
be exposed. If they are, every treaty, every agreement we’ve concluded during the past decade—all the sensitive alliances we’re currently negotiating everywhere in the world—will be called into question. This country’s foreign policy will collapse; we’d never be trusted again. And when a nation such as ours has no foreign policy, Mr. Havelock, it has war.”

Michael leaned over the console, staring at the
Current
screen, and brought his hand to his forehead; he felt the beads of perspiration. “He’s gone this far?”

“Beyond. Remember, he’s been Secretary of State for nearly six years, and before he took office his influence was significant, perhaps too much so, in the two previous administrations. He was nothing short of an ambassador-plenipotentiary for both, roaming the globe, cementing his power bases.”

“But they were for
good
, not this!”

“They were, and no one knew it better than I did. I’m the
one who convinced him that he should chuck the consulting business and take over. I said the world needed his imprimatur, the time was right. You see, I appealed to his ego; all great men have outrageous egos. De Gaulle was right: the man of destiny knows it before anybody else. What he doesn’t know is the limit of his capabilities. God knows Matthias didn’t.”

“You said it a few minutes ago, Mr. President. We made him a god. We asked too much of him.” Havelock shook his head slowly, overwhelmed.

“Just hold it there,” answered Berquist, his voice cold, his eyes penetrating in the incandescent reflections of light. “I said it by way of an oversimplified explanation. No one makes a man a god unless that man wants to
be
one. And, Christ-on-a-raft, Matthias has been looking for that divine appointment all his life! He’s been tasting the holy water for years—in his mind,
bathing
in it.… You know what someone called him the other day? A hustling Socrates on the Potomac, and that’s exactly what he was. A hustler, Mr. Havelock. A grade-A, high-IQ, brilliant
opportunist
. A man with extraordinarily persuasive words, capable of first-rate global diplomacy—the best we could field—as long as
he
was the eye of the worldwide hurricane. He could be magnificent and, as I also said, no one knew it better than I did and I used him. But for all of that, he was a hustler. He never stopped pushing the
omniscient
Anthony Matthias.”

“And knowing this,” said Michael, refusing to permit Berquist’s stare to cower him, “you still used him. You pushed him as much as he pushed himself. You appealed to a ‘man of destiny,’ wasn’t that it?”

The President lowered his eyes to the dials on the console. “Yes,” he said softly. “Until he blew apart. Because I was watching a performance, not the man, and I was blinded. I didn’t see what was really happening.”

“Jesus!” exclaimed Havelock, his whisper a cry. “If’s all so hard to believe!”

“On that assumption,” interrupted Berquist, regaining his composure, “I’ve had several tapes prepared for you. They’re reenactments of actual conversations that took place during his final months in office. The psychiatrists tell me they’re valid, and the papers we’ve unearthed bear them out. Put on
the earphones and “I’ll press the appropriate buttons.… The images will appear on the last monitor on the right.”

What took place on that screen during the next twelve minutes was a portrait of a man Havelock did not know. The tapes showed Matthias at emotional extremes as he was psychologically stimulated by the combined effects of the chemicals and the visual trappings, and prodded by aides using his own words. He was screaming one moment, weeping the next, cajoling a diplomat over the phone with charm and flat-tery—and brilliant humility—then condemning the man as a fool and a moron once the conversation was finished. Above all were the lies, where once there bad been essential truth. The telephone was his instrument; his resonant voice with its European cadence, the organ.

“This first,” said Berquist, angrily stabbing a button, “is his response to me when I had just told him I wanted a reassessment of foreign aid in San Miguel.”

Your policy is firm, Mr. President, a clear call for decency and human rights. I applaud you, sir. Goodbye
.…
Idiot! Imbecile! One does not have to endorse a brother, one must merely accept geopolitical realities! Get me General Sandoza on the line. Set up a very private appointment with his ambassador. The colonels will understand we back them!

“This little number followed a joint House and Senate resolution, which I thoroughly endorsed, to withhold diplomatic recognition …”

You understand, Mr. Prime Minister, that our existing accords in your part of the world prohibit what you suggest, but you should know that I am in agreement with you. I’m meeting with the President … no, no, I assure you he will have an open mind
 … 
and I have already convinced the chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. A treaty between our two countries is desirable progress, and should it be in contradistinction to prior agreements
 … 
well, enlightened self-interest was the essence of Bismarck’s reign
.

“I can’t believe this,” said Havelock, mesmerized.

“Neither did I, but it’s true.” The President pushed a third button. “We’re now in the Persian Gulf …”

You are, of course, speaking unofficially, not as your country’s Minister of Finance but as a friend, and what you are
seeking are additional guarantees of eight hundred and fifty million for your current fiscal year, and one billion two hundred million for the next
.…
Contrary to what you may believe, my good friend, they are entirely plausible figures. I say this confidentially, but our territorial strategies are not what they appear. I shall prepare, again on a confidential basis, a memorandum of intent
.

“Now we’re in the Balkans, a Soviet satellite, loyal to Moscow, and at our throats.… Insanity!”

Mr. Premier, the restrictions on arms sales to your nation, if they cannot be lifted outright, will be overlooked. I find specific and considerable advantages in our cooperating with you. “Equipment” can and will be funneled through certain North African regimes considered to be in our adversary’s camp but with whom I’ve met—shall we say
ex-et non-offi-cio
-recently and frequently. Confidentially, a new geopolitical axis is being formed
 …

“Being formed!” exploded Berquist. “Suicide! Here’s a coup in the Yemens. Instability on course, wholesale blood-shed guaranteed!”

The emerging of a great new independent nation, Sirach Bal Shazar, though slow to gain the recognition you deserve, will have the quiet support of this administration. We recognize the necessity of dealing firmly and realistically with internal subversion. You may be assured that the funds you ask for will be allocated. Three hundred million once transferred will indicate to the legislative branch of our govern-ment the faith we place in you
.

“Finally,” said the President, touching a last button, his whisper strained, his lined face looking exhausted, “the new madman of Africa.”

To speak frankly and in the utmost confidence, Major General Halafi, we approve of your proposed incursion north into the Straits. Our so-called allies there have been weak and ineffectual, but, naturally, our disassociation must, because of the current treaties, be gradual. The educating process is always difficult, the reeducating of the entrenched unfortunately a maddening chess game, fortunately played by those of us who understand. You shall have your weapons
. Salaam,
my warrior friend
.

What Michael had watched and listened to was paralyzing.
Alliances not in the interests of the United States had been tacitly formed or half formed, and treaties proposed or negotiated that were in violation of existing treaties; guarantees of billions had been made that Congress would never tolerate and the American taxpayer would never accept; mili-tary obligations had been assumed that were immoral in concept, crossing the bounds of national honor, and irrationally provocative. It was a portrait of a brilliant mind that had fragmented itself in a profusion of global commitments, each a lethal missile.

Michael slowly recovered from his state of shock. Suddenly the gap came into focus; it had to be filled, explained. Havelock took off the earphones and turned to the President. “Costa Brava,” he whispered harshly.
“Why?
Why ‘beyond salvage’?”

“I was part of the first, but I did not call for the second. As near as we can determine, it was not officially sanctioned.”

“Ambiguity?”

“Yes. We don’t know who he is. However, I should tell you, I personally confirmed the salvage order later.”

“Why?”

“Because I accepted one aspect of the oath you signed when you entered the service of your government.”

“Which was?”

“To lay down your life for your country, should your country need it desperately enough to ask for it. Any of us would, you know that as well as I do. Nor do I have to remind you that untold thousands have done so even when the needs were questionable.”

“Meaning the need for my life—my death—was not questionable?”

“When I gave the order, no, it was not.”

Michael held his breath. “And the Czechoslovakian woman? Jenna Karas?”

“Her death was never sought.”

“It
was
!”

“Not by us.”

“Ambiguity?”

“Apparently.”

“And you don’t know … Oh, my
God
. But my execution was sanctioned. By
you.”

The President nodded, his Nordic face less hard than before, his eyes still level, still steady, but no longer a hunter’s eyes.

“May the condemned man ask why?”

“Come with me,” said Berquist, rising from the console in the dim, flickering light. “It’s time for the last phase of your education, Mr. Havelock. I hope to God you’re ready for it.”

They left the monitor room and entered what appeared to be a short, white corridor, guarded by a huge master sergeant whose face and display of ribbons conveyed many tours and many battles. He cracked to attention the instant he saw the President; his commander in chief nodded and proceeded toward a wide black door at the end of the enclosure. However, it was not a door, Michael realized as he drew nearer behind Berquist. It was a vault, its wheel in the center, a small hand-sensor plate to the right of the frame. The President pressed his right palm against it; a tiny row of colored lights raced back and forth above the plate, settling on green and white. He then reached over with his left hand and gripped the wheel; the lights were tripped again, a combination of three greens this time.

“I’m sure you know more about these devices than I do,” said Berquist, “so I’ll only add that it can be released solely by myself … and one other person in the event of my death.”

The significance was obvious and required no comment. The President swung the heavy vault back, reached up and pressed an unseen plate on the inner frame; somewhere crossbeam trips were deactivated. Once again he nodded at the soldier, gesturing for Havelock to enter. They stepped inside as the master sergeant approached the steel panel and closed it, then spun the wheel into its locked position.

It was a room, but not an ordinary room, for there were no windows, no prints on the walk, no extraneous furniture, no amenities, only the quiet whir of ventilating machines. There was an oblong conference table in the center with five chairs around it, note pads, pencils, and ashtrays in place, a paper shredder in the far left corner; it was a table in a room preset for immediate consultation and instant destruction of whatever came from a given meeting. Whereas the room they had just left had twelve television monitors across the
wall, this had a single large reflector screen, an odd-shaped projector bracketed into the opposite wall next to a panel of circular switches.

Without speaking, Charles Berquist went directly to the panel, dimmed the overhead lights and snapped on the projector. The screen across the dark room was instantly filled with a double image, a straight black line dividing the two photographs. Each was a single page of two separate documents, both obviously related, the forms nearly identical. Havelock stared at them in growing terror.

“This is the essence of what we call Parsifal,” said the President quietly. “Do you recall Wagner’s last opera?”

“Not well,” replied Havelock, barely able to speak.

“No matter. Just bear in mind that whenever Parsifal took up the spear used at Christ’s crucifixion and held it against wounds, he had the power to heal. Conversely, whoever holds these has the power to rip them open. All over the world.”

“I … don’t … 
believe
this,” whispered Havelock.

“I wish to God I didn’t have to,” said Berquist, raising his hand and pointing to the projected document on the left. “This first agreement calls for a nuclear strike against the People’s Republic of China, executed by the combined forces of the United States of America and the Soviet Union. Objective: the destruction of all military installations, government centers, hydroelectric plants, communications systems and seven major cities ranging from the Manchurian border to the China Sea.” The President paused and gestured at the document on the right. “This second agreement calk for a nearly identical strike against the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics carried out by the combined forces of the United States and the People’s Republic of China. The differences are minor, vital only to a few million people who will be burned to death in the nuclear fires. There are an additional five cities, inclusive of Moscow, Leningrad and Kiev. Total destruction: twelve cities obliterated from the face of the earth.… This nation has entered into two separate agreements, one with the Soviet Union, the other with the People’s Republic of China. In each instance, we have committed the full range of our nuclear weapons to a combined strike with a partner to destroy the mutual enemy. Two diametrically
opposed commitments, and the United States is the whore serving two studs gone berserk. Mass annihilation. The world has its nuclear war, Mr. Havelock, engineered with brilliant precision by Anthony Matthias, superstar.”