Read Online The Henderson Equation by Warren Adler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Warren Adler
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three-cornered conversation between faces on cards, the
queen of spades talking to the king of clubs and the jack of diamonds. Did they
see him as he saw himself, the jack? Jackass might be better. Did they think he
could not smell the conspiracy?
"Either print it or be done with it," Henderson said. "I don't want to live in the shadow of the knife." It was, of
course, a display of bravado, macho. Nick could see the shiny colonel's eagle,
the glistening boots, the blue glaze under the helmet liner. A flash of memory
of his army days intruded. "Now that is a leader of men," Charlie had
sneered at their battalion commander, square-featured and confident, with the
Arrow-shirt look of that era.
"Nothing is that clear-cut, Burt," Nick
responded.
"It is to me."
"Only an irresponsible newspaper would already have
printed the story."
"And it would be libelous," Henderson snapped.
"Would it?"
Henderson squirmed visibly. Was he
getting at last to the soft underbelly?
"Or filled with half-truths."
"Like what?"
"Like I was recalled by the National Security Agency
for a brief time in 1963. That's on the record. I have a certain expertise in
intelligence data. I was with Marshall in the Chiang-Mao negotiations. Hell, I
was just a kid. And I was on MacArthur's staff in Korea. Let's face it. I'm
vulnerable. I was, in a sense, a spook. It's quite in vogue now to knock such
an involvement and that alone would murder me with my constituency."
"It would hurt. I'll grant you that," Nick said.
"But I was not mixed up in any assassination
teams. Whatever the hell they were. Believe me, Nick. That's pure fantasy.
Rubbish. Take my word for it."
There it was again, Nick thought.
"Allison told Gunderstein you played a significant
part in the whole Diem action."
"He's a goddamned liar. Whoever he is. Bring him here.
Let him confront me." Henderson isn't really the issue at all, Nick
reminded himself as he watched Myra light a cigarette and blow smoke out of
both nostrils. He reached into the silver cigarette dish, slid out a
long-filtered brand, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Henderson's pain seemed
distant. Was this Myra's handpicked man? Would the little list have all the
other names crossed out? What did Myra believe? Was this Henderson's test or
his own?
"Believe me, Burt," Nick said, "I
don't take the matter lightly."
"I know that, Nick," Henderson pressed,
"that's why I thought I'd take this direct route. I'd have a tough time
getting up from the mat even if you hedged the story. You acknowledge that in
today's climate it would hurt me badly. In political terms, it would kill me
with the kids, a whole generation of kids who came of age in the middle
sixties. You see, I too take my responsibilities seriously."
"I'm quite aware of that, Burt. I'm also very much
aware of your presidential aspirations." He looked at Myra.
"I've made no bones about it. I'm not ashamed of my
ambition."
"I never met a politician who was." He wished he
had checked that, the implied cynicism was, in its way, an admission of bias.
Were they outfoxing him? A maid cleared the table in silence then brought a
carafe of hot coffee. They remained silent as she poured. It was revealing to
see their distrust even of supposedly "safe" retainers. Surely the
maid had silently absorbed conversations like this before. Would she one day
write her own book, Nick thought, her own revelation of power from another
vantage, through another lens? "But I heard them say it," she might
say to a book editor. "I was there. They thought I was merely a picture on
the wall."
"This isn't easy for me, Nick," Henderson said,
when the maid had gone. "Call off Gunderstein. Take me on faith. This one
time. Christ, man," he looked at Myra, "I'm on your side."
It was, of course, ideologically accurate. He wanted to
shout: "You're not the issue!" Myra was eloquent in her silence.
"It's not as simple as all that," Nick said.
"There are ecological problems."
Henderson seemed confused. Power
queen of spades talking to the king of clubs and the jack of diamonds. Did they
see him as he saw himself, the jack? Jackass might be better. Did they think he
could not smell the conspiracy?
"Either print it or be done with it," Henderson said. "I don't want to live in the shadow of the knife." It was, of
course, a display of bravado, macho. Nick could see the shiny colonel's eagle,
the glistening boots, the blue glaze under the helmet liner. A flash of memory
of his army days intruded. "Now that is a leader of men," Charlie had
sneered at their battalion commander, square-featured and confident, with the
Arrow-shirt look of that era.
"Nothing is that clear-cut, Burt," Nick
responded.
"It is to me."
"Only an irresponsible newspaper would already have
printed the story."
"And it would be libelous," Henderson snapped.
"Would it?"
Henderson squirmed visibly. Was he
getting at last to the soft underbelly?
"Or filled with half-truths."
"Like what?"
"Like I was recalled by the National Security Agency
for a brief time in 1963. That's on the record. I have a certain expertise in
intelligence data. I was with Marshall in the Chiang-Mao negotiations. Hell, I
was just a kid. And I was on MacArthur's staff in Korea. Let's face it. I'm
vulnerable. I was, in a sense, a spook. It's quite in vogue now to knock such
an involvement and that alone would murder me with my constituency."
"It would hurt. I'll grant you that," Nick said.
"But I was not mixed up in any assassination
teams. Whatever the hell they were. Believe me, Nick. That's pure fantasy.
Rubbish. Take my word for it."
There it was again, Nick thought.
"Allison told Gunderstein you played a significant
part in the whole Diem action."
"He's a goddamned liar. Whoever he is. Bring him here.
Let him confront me." Henderson isn't really the issue at all, Nick
reminded himself as he watched Myra light a cigarette and blow smoke out of
both nostrils. He reached into the silver cigarette dish, slid out a
long-filtered brand, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Henderson's pain seemed
distant. Was this Myra's handpicked man? Would the little list have all the
other names crossed out? What did Myra believe? Was this Henderson's test or
his own?
"Believe me, Burt," Nick said, "I
don't take the matter lightly."
"I know that, Nick," Henderson pressed,
"that's why I thought I'd take this direct route. I'd have a tough time
getting up from the mat even if you hedged the story. You acknowledge that in
today's climate it would hurt me badly. In political terms, it would kill me
with the kids, a whole generation of kids who came of age in the middle
sixties. You see, I too take my responsibilities seriously."
"I'm quite aware of that, Burt. I'm also very much
aware of your presidential aspirations." He looked at Myra.
"I've made no bones about it. I'm not ashamed of my
ambition."
"I never met a politician who was." He wished he
had checked that, the implied cynicism was, in its way, an admission of bias.
Were they outfoxing him? A maid cleared the table in silence then brought a
carafe of hot coffee. They remained silent as she poured. It was revealing to
see their distrust even of supposedly "safe" retainers. Surely the
maid had silently absorbed conversations like this before. Would she one day
write her own book, Nick thought, her own revelation of power from another
vantage, through another lens? "But I heard them say it," she might
say to a book editor. "I was there. They thought I was merely a picture on
the wall."
"This isn't easy for me, Nick," Henderson said,
when the maid had gone. "Call off Gunderstein. Take me on faith. This one
time. Christ, man," he looked at Myra, "I'm on your side."
It was, of course, ideologically accurate. He wanted to
shout: "You're not the issue!" Myra was eloquent in her silence.
"It's not as simple as all that," Nick said.
"There are ecological problems."
Henderson seemed confused. Power
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