“That’s a nice speech, but I assume there’s more to it than your faith in the American people.”
“There is,” Eisenhower said. “We’ve set a perfect trap for him, just as we did the Germans with Operation Fortitude. I am convinced that the only person who can destroy McCarthy as a political figure is McCarthy himself. And he has many weaknesses. One of them is drink. Another is Cohn. And Cohn’s weakness is Private Schine. McCarthy and Cohn demanded special treatment for Schine last year. It was denied. So now McCarthy is going after the army. That’s a fight he cannot win. And it’s a fight we are prepared for. He will not walk out of the hearings on the army unscathed.”
Charlie considered what the president was saying. He would have to take it on faith. “There are others, of course, who are ripping apart our country in the name of preserving it,” Charlie said. “It’s not just McCarthy.”
Eisenhower looked away, toward his painting of a mountain landscape. “The main characteristic of the seven years between V-E Day and my moving into this office has been the steady consolidation of power in two blocs facing off against each other,” he said. “With a growing arsenal of enormously destructive weapons on both sides.”
“Chemical weapons being one facet of that,” Charlie said.
“One of many.” Eisenhower frowned. “Part of understanding everything at play in Washington right now is understanding the birth of a multibillion-dollar industry. Do you know that the amount of money our government spends on military security every year is greater than the net income of all U.S. corporations? It’s astounding. We need a strong defense, of course. But I’m concerned about the conjunction of an immense military establishment with this large arms industry. It’s new in the American experience. The total influence is felt everywhere. Every town, every village—every congressional vote.”
“The arms manufacturers won’t make as much money if we’re at peace,” Charlie noted.
“Precisely. When our wars are determined not by the threat of Nazism or fascism or Communism but by the influence on policy-makers of those who stand to reap financial benefits from the use of these arms—that, Charlie, is my biggest fear for this country. We have, for the first time in the history of this great nation, a war-based industry that exists even though we are not at war. Officers leave the military and take jobs in this industry and influence policies. We don’t want to become what the Communists say we are.”
He stared at Charlie, his ice-blue eyes projecting seriousness and concern.
“And that’s one of the reasons why I need you to stay in Congress, Charlie,” the president continued. “Because you understand both the threat of the Communists and the threat of those who would destroy the United States in order to save it.”
There was a knock at the door and Mrs. Whitman poked her head in.
“Just give me two more minutes, Annie,” the president said.
He stood and walked back to his desk.
“Sir?” Charlie asked.
“We need men like you, Charlie. The Republican Party does, Congress does, and, more important, the nation does. I need you working for us the way that your dad and your colleague Mr. Street do. For me. As my eyes and ears. One of my soldiers.”
As Eisenhower sat, Charlie stood.
“Soon the nation will be waging wars just to bring up stock prices,” the president said. “The Hellfire Club, as you well know, has been around for centuries. And they’ve generally kept their business private. But recently, its members have been flexing their muscles in ways that are getting people killed. Look at the Banana Man, what’s his name, from United Fruit Company—”
“Sam Zemurray,” Charlie said.
“Right,” said Eisenhower. “In Guatemala, I can’t tell what I’m being pushed to do because of the Communists and what I’m being pushed to do because Zemurray doesn’t want to pay his banana pickers a living wage. And while he’s not a member—the Hellfire Club doesn’t admit Jews—he wields huge influence with a few of the monks. Allen Dulles and Foster, both. So I need my own eyes and ears all over the place. I trust Allen Dulles, but I need to know what he’s up to. If he and his brother are continuing to take money from Zemurray, for instance.”
Now Charlie felt less reassured. If even Eisenhower was this confused about agendas, what hope could he possibly have of understanding it?
“Don’t give up the fight,” Eisenhower said. “We need brave people like you—and your wife—people who are willing to do the right thing. Heroes. Heroes like your dad and Congressman Street. That’s how we defeat enemies, foreign and domestic. With men—and women—of character.”
All Charlie could think about were the moments since he’d come to Washington when he was not brave, when options were put in front of him and he had decidedly not done the right thing. He hadn’t gone to the cops immediately after waking up in Rock Creek. He’d passed the Boschwitz file over to Bob Kennedy. Swiped the NBC documents about Strongfellow from his dad’s office and handed them over to Roy Cohn. He had done what was most comfortable and advantageous for himself, nothing more. Here was the president suggesting he was on the path of the righteous because midway through it, he’d snapped out of his stupor and worked with Margaret and Isaiah on a plan to rebel, and somehow they’d all survived.
He wanted to ask Eisenhower about this. Did all heroes feel like such frauds? What had Charlie done, after all? Killed Carlin and helped Street save Margaret. She was healthy and would soon give birth, and the doctor reported that the baby looked great too, and that was the most important thing. But the CEO of General Kinetics was fat and happy manufacturing his poisons, and the Hellfire Club was down one monk but still thriving and pulling strings. Nothing had really changed except he and Margaret were not immediately being threatened. But McCarthy and Cohn and Abner Lance were still out there. His father had told him that Allen Dulles had sworn that Charlie and Margaret were safe for now, but how long would that last?
“I feel as though I have failed this nation more than I have fought for it, sir,” Charlie said. “Since coming here to Washington, anyway.”
Eisenhower looked grimly down at his desk. “Charlie,” the president began. He stood and stared out the window. “In October 1952, I was campaigning in Wisconsin. Milwaukee. I was going to give a speech. And in it, I planned to stand up for my friend General Marshall. McCarthy had been smearing him as a traitor for the better part of a year. I was very excited; I had a section in this speech vouching for my friend’s patriotism. And I would do so in Milwaukee with McCarthy onstage. It would be a moment I could feel proud of.”
He exhaled, and the life seemed to go out of him. He turned and put his hands on the back of his chair. “Then the governor got his hands on a copy of the speech, and he convinced my aides that they should take out that section, that if I stood up for George Marshall, I might alienate McCarthy, which could cost me Wisconsin’s electoral votes.”
There was another knock at the Oval Office door, and Mrs. Whitman once again poked her head in. The president turned to her. “One more second,” he said. She closed the door. Eisenhower paused, apparently trying to find his place in the story.
“So what did you do after you heard that the governor told your aides to take out that section?” Charlie asked, attempting to help.
“I had them take it out of my speech,” Eisenhower said. “I wish I hadn’t. And this ended up, of course, not being the last time I had to defer to the egoism of this demagogue. McCarthy kept coming and coming and coming at me. My secretary of the army has been trying to accommodate him; that hasn’t stopped him. He is incapable of stopping, even when it’s in his own interests. Smearing and lying. It’s what he does. One cannot appease the insatiable.”