The Last President: A Novel of an Alternative America by Michael Kurland, S. W. Barton Page A

Weatherpeople.”
    After a little more thought, Zonya came up with a name that Calvin allowed he had heard of. “Okay,” he said. “Twelve hundred it is. I’ll even throw in a couple of free lessons; you shouldn’t waste too much ammo.”
    “Good,” she said. “Very good.”
    “Is tomorrow soon enough?” he asked. “Meet me here about ten, we’ll arrange a trade.”
    “I can manage that,” she said.
    “You leave now,” he told her. “And don’t wait around to see where I go.”
    “I wouldn’t do that,” she said. “We have to trust each other.”
    “Right.” Calvin waited until she was out the door, then lay put a bill down on the table to pay for the coffee and hurried out to a pay phone on Bleecker Street. He dialed a number he had memorized. “Made contact,” he told the man who answered. “A young female calling herself Zonya. Set up a meet for tomorrow.”
    “Very good,” the phone voice said.
    “I need five Thompsons.”
    “What are they planning to do, rob the Mint?” the voice asked. “What the fuck do they need five Thompsons for?”
    “I didn’t ask,” Calvin said. “Do I get them?”
    “Sure thing,” the voice told him. “We’ll send them to your apartment. Don’t lose them. Join their group.”
    “It’s all arranged,” Calvin said. “I’m teaching them how to use the damn things.”
    “Very good.”
    “Send along a manual, will you?”
    “Sure thing.” The voice hung up.

CHAPTER SIX
    On the first and third Thursday of each month TEPACS met in Professor Adams’ study. Starting in 1965 as a biweekly poker game, the gatherings had quickly attained the mock formality of the Thursday Evening Poker and Conversation Society. From there, given the bureaucratic orientation of most of the members, the acronymic TEPACS became inevitable.
    As TEPACS had evolved over the years, Aaron Adams had chosen men who were personally and professionally interesting to him. After all, it was his house. Now the group was a good cross section of the decisionmaking level of Washington bureaucracy, articulate, intelligent men who played damn good poker.
    Early in the afternoon, Adams’ silent myrmidon, Gerald, turned the felt side of the gaming table up, set out the chips, set up the wet bar for heavy use, and filled the ice bucket. Adams padded in from the pool and performed the ritual of placing TEPACS’ framed constitution on the wall over the table. Calligraphed on parchment by a former member of the group who was now Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the constitution was to hang only at meetings. Its presence was as important to the games as the ritualistic opening of two new decks of cards. Tradition, after all, is tradition.

    The CONSTITUTION of the
    Thursday Evening Poker and Conversation Society
    one
    TEPACS shall exist to further the art of good poker, and otherwise benefit mankind.
    two
    TEPACS shall meet on the first and third Thursday of each month. Play shall begin promptly at 2000 hours and end precisely at 0200 hours.
    three
    Poker shall be defined as five-card draw, five-or seven-card stud ONLY. Within these limits, the dealer may choose.
    four
    The office of Secretary shall rotate from session to session. The Secretary shall supply the cards.
    Adams went upstairs to shower and dress and then came down to eat the omelette aux fines herbes that Gerald had prepared for dinner. When they were alone, Adams ate in the kitchen with Gerald. When there was any third person in the house, Gerald would not permit it.
    Obie Porfritt was, as usual, the first to arrive. And, as usual, his first words on coming through the door were, “Evening, Aaron. Where is everybody?”
    “You’re a shade early, Obie,” Adams said. “Make yourself a drink.” He nodded to Gerald, who put the scotch on the bar, looked at Adams, and tapped his nose twice with his ring finger, and left the room.
    “Boy!” Obie said, staring after Gerald. “What I’d give for a couple of aides who