TJ did not try to minimize it. “We do have a responsibility to share the truth.”
“Listen to the man, Sandy. You don't know how important a choice this is. When I think of how close I came to turning it down, it leaves me cold.”
Sandra Hastings seemed quiet and troubled as she entered the office.
There was a brief period of small talk while the crew set up camera and lighting and mike; then Reverend Tom Nees made a short introduction to the Community of Hope, what they did, and the experiences they had in working with HUD.
He concluded with, “Yesterday morning I told Mr. Case about our difficulties. I don't know what he did, but today we received a telephone call to say that the funding has been approved. And not just for the original two projects, but for the one that was turned down, and for two more that I didn't even know were in the works.”
“Wow,” breathed the
Post
reporter, and was shushed by the camera crew.
“My sentiments exactly,” Reverend Nees agreed. “Almost four million dollars for new low-income housing. I know the word has become so abused as to be almost empty of meaning, but this is a miracle in the truest sense of the word.”
“Reverend, do you ever regret giving up the life you had to come down and work with the poor?” Sandra Hastings asked.
“Of course I do,” Tom Nees replied. “In order to have these people trust me, I must live as they do. It is extremely difficult to watch my family endure that kind of poverty because of a calling I've had. Thankfully, my wife and daughter support me one hundred percent. But there are still times when I wish I could give them things, and I can't.”
He gave the reporters a tired smile. “Then something like this happens. Or I see a child who came to us so abused and emotionally battered that her little face is molded into a permanent scowl, turn and hug one of our ladies, and laugh, and say that she loves her. Or I see a family who came to us absolutely broken in spirit and body and leave with the pride of having a good job and a new home of their own. And I know that I am right where I should be. There is not the slightest question in my mind. I
know
this is right.”
There was a long, thoughtful silence, as TJ and Jeremy and Anna and Nak and Tom Nees watched the two reporters struggle with their own inner questions and doubts. Almost reluctantly they roused themselves, and asked TJ if he would trade places under the lights with Tom.
He did so, and with utter assurance made a compelling presentation. He described the talk he'd had with Senator Atterly, leaving out nothing but the man's name. He told them of the hunting done by the senator's assistant, and what he uncovered. He named the company, the Atlas Group. He described the change of attitude once pressure was brought to bear. And then he waited.
The atmosphere in the room had become electric. Sandra signalled to her crew, the lights were cut, and the
Post
reporter rested a weary hand.
“This is great stuff,” the
Post
reporter said. “I don't suppose you could tell us which senator it was who gave you the scoop.”
“That's not for me to say,” TJ replied.
“I think we'll run this as a special,” Sandra Hastings said, thinking out loud in her excitement. “This is fantastic. I'm going to hit the mayor with it tonight, ask his opinion.”
The
Post
reporter perked up. “YesâuhâI wanted to ask you about that.”
“Tell you what,” Sandra said to him. “If you'll promise to share your next HUD scoop with our television station, I'll let you tag along tonight.”
“Done.” The guy smiled. “Want it in blood?”
“Not in this room,” Tom Nees said.
TJ listened to their antics, felt the Spirit grow within him. Why now, he wondered. Why not before the interview began? But the Presence grew until all else was secondary, until little else mattered.
Sandra Hastings turned back to him, asked, “Do you think we could have something from you as a sort of conclusion? You know, some opinion that I could run alongside what the mayor's got to say?”
“Of course,” he replied, having been given the words.
The lights were turned back on, the camera focused, and Sandra Hastings asked him, “Mr. Case, as the person directly responsible for overcoming this difficult and long-standing roadblock, do you have any opinion as to the general outlook for housing our nation's poor?”
“We have arrived at a crossroads,” TJ said, his voice needing no volume to put across its strength. “We must stop the impersonal, wholesale approach of public agencies' relief efforts by coupling government together with nonprofit organizations. Each need is specific. The only way to humanize the government's heavy-handed assistance is to make it a partnership with individual Christian charity.”
Sandra Hastings objected, “Wouldn't this open relief efforts to enormous risks of abuse?”
“The abuse is already there,” TJ replied. “It has always been there, and as the size of our government grows, so too will the magnitude of these abuses.
“Corruption will be found wherever there is a source of money as large as the government, and whenever man is ruled by greed rather than compassion. Our objective should be to set up guidelines that allow for relief to be given without strangling our ability to show compassion. We must stop making relief so faceless, and realize that money alone will not solve a person's problems. The spirit must be healed as well, and this the government can never do.
“We as a nation must stop handing over our responsibility to the government, then criticizing it for failing to do what it was never meant to achieve in the first place. Relief efforts are every Christian's responsibility. Not the churches, not the government, not some civic-minded organization allocated a budget and forgotten. Every single Christian has an obligation to his or her neighbor. Every neighbor. Regardless of race or income. Every neighbor.”
Reverend Tom Nees quietly quoted the words of Christ, “He who does for the least of these, does for me.”
TJ went on, “You cannot legislate hope. You cannot legislate mercy. Nor love. Nor compassion. This country, every individual, needs to reach beyond the limits of legislation. It needs to find a sense of compassionate caring. We must begin to live up to the Christian responsibility of helping one another. Only then will we see an answer to today's crises.”
For Norman Greenbaum, the only difference between Saturday and the other days of the week was that he tried to hold himself to an eight-hour day. Sometimes he even succeeded. He was busy at his desk, reveling in the relative calm, when his phone rang.
“Norman.” President Nichols did not need to identify himself. “Has Case been notified of his, ah, departure?”
“No, sir,” Greenbaum replied, wondering why everything to do with this Case fellow seemed to go wrong for him. “I went over to his office as soon as it was typed up. I wanted to give it to him personally. But he'd already left for the day.”
“Did you leave it there?”
“No, sir, I brought it back.” In truth, Greenbaum had found himself more than a little shook up by the experience. Why, he could not explain. Even his wife had noticed and commented on it, but he shrugged it off. The whole thing, now that it was over, seemed impossible. But just the same, he'd been very glad not to find Case there. “I was going to give it to him first thing Monday, but I could drive it over to his home tonight, or call him, if you like.”
“No.” The President half-sighed the word, went on reluctantly. “I'm going to ask you to hold off for a day or so.” He was silent a moment. “My wife, did you know she's been going to his prayer meetings?”
Greenbaum gave a silent groan, said, “No, sir, I wasn't aware of that.”
“Neither was I. But it seems that one of her staff had been getting so excited about it that last week my wife decided to go herself. Now she's after me to go.” The President hesitated, said, “She's been very insistent, Norman. You know what she can be like when she gets her teeth into something.”
“Yes, sir, I certainly do.” The First Lady was generally a discreet and reserved woman. But if she decided to press an issue she could be an absolute lioness. Greenbaum decided the President must have been catching it hard.
“So just hold off for a day, will you? I'll be going on Monday, and once I've had a chance to see this thing for myself, we'll see to our housecleaning. That clear?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President, I understand perfectly.”
“Good then. Oh, and Norman, don't mention this change of plans to Edwards, will you? I'd just as soon keep this postponement between us.”
****
Congressman John Silverwood was not at all pleased. The urgent summons from Senator Erskins had wrecked his evening's plans with Sally. The next day, Sunday, was her birthday. To celebrate, he had paid a scalper a hundred bucks a seat for tickets to “Phantom of the Opera.” He glanced at his watch for the tenth time in perhaps five minutes, and hoped they would finish up in time for him to make the second act.
It was very strange to see Mr. Shermann sitting in Ted Robinson's dimly lit hotel suite still wearing his sunglasses. No matter how often he saw them, Silverwood would never get used to those two-tone shades. The dried-up face, or what he could see of it, was as emotionless as ever, and the sticklike body utterly still. That could not be said for the other two persons in the room.
Ted Robinson ground out one cigarette, fished the pack out of his shirt pocket, lit another. The man's normally urbane appearance had vanished. His collar was undone, his tie at half-mast, his hair in disarray, his eyes very worried. Silverwood could not recall ever having seen him like this, not even at the close of a long and exhausting campaign.
Senator Erskins stopped his nervous pacing as the television special came to a close. He walked over and switched off the set. “All right, Tony. We've seen the damage. Let's start talking about how we can repair it.”
Silverwood dropped the
Washington Post
to his lap. He had already read the piece that morning; he was holding it simply to have something in his hands. He still did not understand what all the fuss was about. Compared to some scandals, this seemed a very minor incident with limited repercussions. And besides the fact that it revolved around Case, he could not really understand why he needed to be there. He glanced at his watch again, decided if they were going to try to hang Case around his neck, he was going to let them have it.
“Let's just wait for the drinks to arrive, shall we? Ah, here they are.” Playing host in Robinson's suite, Shermann stood and opened the door to admit the waiter and his trolley. Shermann declined the man's offer to serve the drinks, tipped him, and ushered him out.
“Why don't we just allow everyone to serve himself?” Shermann gave a little wave in invitation. “Senator?”
Silverwood waited until Erskins was finished, then joined Robinson at the trolley. “Pour me a scotch, will you?”
His back to the room, Ted said softly, “I thought I told you not to get involved with this Shermann guy.”
“I'm not.” Silverwood dropped a couple of ice cubes in his drink. “What's he got on you anyway, Ted?”
Ted Robinson ignored the question, said flatly, “You accepted his offer, so you're involved.” He rattled his ice, sipped, said, “Brother, you don't have any idea how deep you're in, do you? No idea at all.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Silverwood asked, but Robinson had already turned toward the room.
“It seems we have a very serious problem, gentlemen,” Shermann began, once everyone was seated. “One which requires an instant response.”
“Take that Case guy out back and shoot him,” Senator Erskins growled.
“My sentiments exactly,” Shermann agreed. “Unfortunately, my clients have requested that we find a different solution.”
What does this guy mean by “we,” Silverwood thought. All he said was, “Issue a denial.”
“Oh, wise up, John!” Senator Erskins snapped.
“Please, Senator,” Shermann said, and to Silverwood, “I have to admit, Congressman, that I too wondered what all the fuss was about. But you see, this Mr. Case has gone so far as to actually name the Atlas Group.”
“Sue him,” Silverwood said. “Force him to retract it.”
“That would solve nothing, I'm afraid. It might in fact have the exact opposite effect from the one desired. If this Mr. Case refuses to bow to our pressureâ”
“He'll refuse, you mark my words,” Senator Erskins broke in. “These religious extremists are all the same. He'd call himself a martyr and eat it with a spoon.”
“I tend to agree,” Shermann said. “If that happened, whether or not we went to court, we would be tarred as guilty in the eyes of the public.”
There was that “we” again. It grated on Silverwood's nerves to be classed as part of this group. “So?”
“Indeed, Congressman. So what? Most corporations have suffered through bouts of bad publicity at one time or another and survived. Unfortunately, Atlas is at present involved in several large deals. All of them are entering extremely sensitive points in their negotiations. Because of this, they require a direct, unequivocal, public declaration of their total innocence.”
Here it comes, Silverwood decided. The windup's finished. Time for the pitch.
“We must therefore request, Congressman, that you go before Monday's committee hearing and declare that there is no evidence whatsoever of Atlas having ever committed any wrongdoing.”
Silverwood laughed, not believing what he'd heard. “You're joking.”
“On the contrary, Congressman, I'm utterly serious.”
“Then you're mad.”
“That may well be,” Shermann replied, as dry and toneless as ever. “But it does not alter the nature of my request. Or the urgency.”