Deep Cover by Brian Garfield Page A

saying it’s time, right now, to stop giving the bomb merchants free rein.”
    â€œThat’s pretty strong talk, sir.”
    â€œI feel strongly about it. We hear a lot about boondoggles and pork barrels and Federal giveaways. I say let’s not give away another thirty billion dollars for doomsday toys nobody needs.”
    The screen cut away and the moderator said deadpan, “There has been no reaction yet from the White House or the Pentagon to Senator Forrester’s remarks.” A kitchen cleanser replaced the moderator’s face and Forrester switched the set off and smiled broadly when he heard the telephone ring: whoever it was, he wasn’t wasting any time, but Forrester let it ring four times before he picked it up.
    It was Woody Guest.
    The elder Senator’s voice was affable and hearty. “Nice little minstrel show you put on there, boy. Marvelous coverage, too. Did you catch yourself on CBS?”
    â€œThey gave it more time than I’d expected. How are you, Senator?” Forrester settled hipshot against the corner of the writing desk and sipped his drink.
    â€œA mite ruffled. Candidly, young friend, you caught me off guard.”
    Think of that.
    â€œIf I hadn’t had an off-the-record tip,” Woodrow Guest continued, “from a journalistic acquaintance, I’d have missed your performance altogether.”
    â€œThat would have been a shame.”
    â€œIt would.”
    â€œSince you evidently want me to ask, what’s on your mind, Senator?”
    â€œYou didn’t play fair with us, son. Why didn’t you come to me first?”
    â€œWould it have got me anywhere?”
    â€œMight have. After all, in our exclusive little club we have traditional ways of handling the decision-making process and getting things ironed out. You break with tradition, young friend, you make things uneasy for everybody.”
    â€œIn my judgment this is no time for clubhouse rules.”
    â€œNo issue’s too important for decent courtesy, son. You’ve made a bad error.” Guest’s voice changed. “God damn it, Alan, have you got your brains up your ass or what? What in God’s name got into you? Just what did you have in mind?”
    â€œHow about saving the Treasury thirty billion dollars, for openers.”
    â€œBalls. You’re forgetting where you come from. I won’t be able to hold up my head in Phoenix after tonight.”
    â€œI’m sure you’ve got time enough left to compose your suicide note.”
    Guest ignored it. “I had my suspicions but now I’m sure of it. You’ve joined the liberal losers at last—the ones who find success vulgar. I should have seen it coming.”
    â€œI haven’t joined the crazies just yet, Senator.”
    â€œYou may as well. Nobody else is going to give you a place to hang your hat after this little display.”
    â€œNot even you?”
    â€œNot even me. Thank God I’m not the one who’s up for reelection this year. At least I won’t have to boot you off my ticket.”
    â€œI take it that means I’m not to count on your venerable support in the primary.”
    â€œYou can put that in the bank, son. And you won’t get much support from the Republican machinery anywhere.”
    â€œAll right, Senator. We’ll just have to wait and see how it all develops, won’t we.”
    â€œNothing to wait for, young friend. We’ve dealt with mavericks on the Hill before. It’s not your private ball park up here—youcame into our ballgame, son, you play by our rules or else you get out of the park.”
    â€œReceipt acknowledged, Senator.”
    â€œYou think about it, that’s all. I’ll get back to you after you’ve had time to mull it over. Take care now.”
    Forrester depressed the cradle button and waited with the receiver in hand until it rang again as he knew it would. He was smiling a little.