|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"It's public record: he worked in the Defense Department as budget officer when you and your pals were doing Dr. Strangelove experiments. All it'll take is one snoopy reporter pressing the freedom-of-information button and the proverbial cat will be out of the proverbial bag," DeVoe said. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"How would anybody think to look that up?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"That's not the question. It's what if somebody does. Morgan Reese is one of forty-odd men in history who've held his office. He's the consequences of all he has ever beenthat's the weight of the office. He was the financial overseer of genocidal warfare, which just happened to get dumped in the local water supply. If you don't think this will fly in his face, think of the number of AGs or Supreme Court nominees who got rolled because they smoked a joint at a party thirty years ago or didn't pay taxes on their cleaning ladies. Or think about Watergate and Irangate and Whitewater and the sexual claims against Bill Clinton. And speaking of that, let me tell you why JFK lasted as long as he did: because there were people like me who kept the smoke machines going while he was jumping up and down on Marilyn Monroe." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"It's not the president you're concerned about," Julius said. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
DeVoe nodded. "That's right," he said. "Ultimately, it's our own hides." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Julius looked at his wife and shook his head. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
For a long moment she closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were small blue beads. "Call Roman," she said to DeVoe. |
|
|
|
|
|