The 45th, page 32
Julian leaned toward Feisal. “Only Ismael knows you are here. No one will ever know what we have talked about. When I read what Marcel Dubose sent me, I was certain I could talk to you - in private; talk about things I could never speak about in public.”
“Every being made to achieve its ultimate perfection.”
“Not just that.”
“I know. How can I help? Of what service can I be?”
“Half the people in this country, and more than half the members of Congress, think the only way to fight terrorism is to fight against it on the ground, where it starts.”
“Yes, and every time you bomb another city, another village, every time you inflict more casualties, the anger, the hatred, grows. It won’t stop, Mr. President. Islam won’t allow it. I needn’t tell you - you know already - that every Muslim, everyone who believes, believes Islam is the word of God, the true word of God. We know the truth, we know God’s meaning - we cannot tolerate error,” explained Feisal, with a subtle smile of honorable duplicity. “These American politicians, arguing about whether to call it ‘radical Islamic terrorism!’ Read the Koran. There should be no confusion. The central teaching - all the world, everyone, is destined to come to the true belief. There may be secular elements who try to water it down, suggest that, like what happened to Christianity, Islam has become more - how shall I put it? - willing to accept the modern world. And it is - but not by those who are really devoted to the faith. And, I have to tell you, even what you might regard as the more moderate among us still think of you - the Americans, the West - as at war with Islam and all we believe, think of you the way we did of the Crusaders, come to take our lands, everything we have, everything we believe, away from us. That is why -”
“The Crusaders!” laughed Julian with raised eyebrows. “We both know they came to take back what was taken, what had belonged to Christianity before Mohammed was born.”
“And belonged to the Romans, and the Persians, before Christ. History, when it comes to what someone wants, is all a matter of choice. Look back to where your grievance first began, not to when you first took what had once belonged to someone else.”
Nodding his agreement, Julian rubbed his chin, struck by the phrase ‘matter of choice.’ History, not as a necessary progress toward the present, the present the culmination of everything that had gone before, the highest achievement, the perfection, of the human race. Chance, no one would admit it now. History, a process that gave meaning to time, gave meaning to the lives of people who had to think themselves part of something else, and not accountable for their failure to live as if their life had its own meaning in the miracle of their existence. Chance, what else was life if it was not that?
“The Crusaders, think what would have happened if the Christians had not tried to take back what once belonged to them. No mathematics - and therewith no technology - without Arabic numbers. And, on the other hand, if Islam had not driven out the Christians and taken Constantinople, no one would have brought the works of ancient Greece - the works of Plato - to Florence, and without that, without what the Medici and their money made possible, the Renaissance would never have happened.”
“Without mathematics, without the Renaissance….Yes, but then is the modern world such a great improvement? Are we any wiser, any better off? Who do we have who rivals Alfarabi or Averroes, to say nothing of Plato and Aristotle.”
“I don’t disagree, but this is the world in which we have to live, the world we have to change.” The fingers of Julian’s left hand began tapping a slow, methodical beat, measuring the intervals of a long line of thought. “There are three things I am going to do, three things in which I need you to act as an intermediary. Gradually, over the next several months, all the forces we have in the Middle East will be withdrawn. There will be no residual forces, no trainers, no special forces, no air support - nothing. There will be no American presence. We don’t like to think of ourselves as an empire, but since the second world war that is what we have become.” There was a hard edge to his voice, contempt for the refusal of others to look things straight on, to see things as they really were. “You will remember - you’ve read Thucydides - what Pericles said, how it may have been unjust for Athens to acquire an empire, but it would be dangerous, and perhaps fatal, to give it up. But he also warned in that same speech that it could cost them the war if they tried to make their empire bigger, greater, than it was. And when Rome became an empire, what did Augustus do? - Draw back, confine the empire to a defensible limit. The American empire - this notion that we have some obligation to bring democracy to the world - our real obligation is to lead by example, become the kind of republic we were meant to be. The American empire - we need to draw back.”
“So you would leave the Middle East,” said Feisal, studying Julian closely. He knew he could trust him. That was no longer even a question. There were not half dozen people in the world - men like Marcel Dubose - who had the kind of mind that could follow - or would think it important to follow - the difficult, and sometimes hidden, teaching of the greatest philosophers, the only ones who deserved the name, who had ever written. And now, to his amazement, he had discovered that Julian Drake, the American president, was one of them. This was a revelation; it was also a great danger. Whatever Julian Drake might decide to do, it was certain to be revolutionary. Great success, or great failure, it would have to be one or the other. “That will remove the cause of most of the resentment, most of the hatred, most of the incentive that has driven so many to join organizations devoted to your destruction. But it will not remove all of it. Too much has happened, too many people have been killed, too many have gained power in the struggle against the West. We have too many conflicts of our own, too many governments have been overthrown, too many rebellions have been suppressed. We are filled with bad memories and live too much on promises of revenge and retribution.”
“The second thing, the second part, is whatever assistance, civilian assistance, economic aid, that might be needed to help rebuild what we helped destroy: schools, hospitals, roads, bridges, housing. The third thing - and about this there is no room for discussion - we cannot withdraw, we cannot leave, without a clear understanding that terrorism is now your problem, not ours.”
“Our problem…? How do you mean this? In what sense does it becomes ours?”
Julian looked across the table with a strange reluctance, regretting the necessity of what he had to say next.
“It will be our policy that any attack on the United States will be considered an act of war by whatever country in which any terrorist who commits such an act has most recently resided. If someone from Yemen attacks the United States, we won’t go looking for someone hiding in Yemen, we will go to war against Yemen. If Bin Laden were alive today, we would go to war against Pakistan. That is what I mean when I say it is your problem. I want you, as the Saudi ambassador, to inform the other governments in the region that this is what I will do. It’s their job to make sure it doesn’t happen, their responsibility to stop any terrorist organization from operating in their territory. We’re not going to be there - we’re leaving. They will have no one now to complain about, no one to blame. There isn’t any Great Satan, threatening their way of life. They are going to be left alone to solve their own problems however they decide. They leave us alone and all will be well. If they don’t, they will, I assure you, have reason to regret it.”
“You’re taking quite a chance. How many of those governments do you think can really control what goes on inside their borders? Yes, I know…they haven’t had much reason to try.” He paused, considering the possibilities. “It might work. And it’s hard to see how it could be any worse than the situation as it now is. It will give us more leverage - with certain of the other players in the region - the argument that the Americans are leaving, that they won’t be back, unless….” He suddenly thought of something. “But will it work here? You’ll be accused of abandoning your allies in the region, accused of giving up the fight against terrorism, accused of-”
“Of everything imaginable. Unless it works. Now, tell me something more about Alfarabi and Averroes. Is it true that when Alfarabi describes the best regime, he avoids any conflict with Islam and the religious authorities by avoiding any reference to God, revelation, the divine law or miracles?”
“It is always necessary to avoid the appearance of disagreement with what those in power, whether a tyrant or a whole people, believe - is it not?”
Chapter Twenty One
It used to be said of Lyndon Johnson, when he was majority leader in the senate, that he knew every senator’s secret wish and secret fear and how to use that knowledge to his own advantage. With one long arm thrown round the shoulder of a senator whose vote he needed, he would jab him in the chest with a crooked finger, telling him all the torments of hell he could expect to receive if he voted the wrong way, and all the rewards of heaven if he would only agree, just this one time, to ignore what the people in his state might want and do what, deep down in his heart, they both knew was the right thing. ‘The Treatment,’ as it came to be called, did not always work, but those who resisted it were few and far between. The senate under Lyndon Johnson did its work ,and did it with something close to clockwork efficiency. But Lyndon Johnson was dead and gone and the senate was nothing like the same place. Louis Matson could only shake his head at the loss of all sense of responsibility, the unwillingness of senators to give any thought for anything beyond what their vote on a given issue might cost them in the next election.
“You never used to have to worry about this kind of thing. If you were an incumbent, you might, once in a while, find yourself with an opponent in the general election you had to take seriously, especially if it was a year like l964, when LBJ was facing Goldwater and everyone knew he was going to win in a landslide, or l972, when McGovern was going to drag down the Democrats when he got buried by Nixon. But have to worry about what someone in your own party might do, worry about a primary for Christ sake! That stuff just didn’t happen. And now - Hell! - that’s all these idiots think about. Julian’s been in office - what? - almost four months, and all that legislation, all the things he wants to do - everything we should do - it’s still here, sitting in committees, everyone too goddamn scared of what might happen - not to the country - but to them! I can’t bring anything to a vote; I don’t have enough votes to get it through, and I’m not going to try until I do. Jesus H. Christ! It’s that goddamn …, it’s those same goddamn people: Chambers, Murray, that whole crowd of mindless, self-important fools who think that because - usually through no fault of their own - they became billionaires they’re smart and everyone else is stupid. They think they got stiffed at the convention. They didn’t like it. Instead of one of those wind-up dolls, those straw stuffed politicians, they get - Christ, this must have damn near killed them - Julian! And then what? - They decide to back the other side. They lose again. And then what do they do? - They keep running a campaign, fill the airwaves with all these warnings about how if Julian Drake gets his way, if Congress gives him the legislation he wants, America will be bankrupt and all our rights taken away!”
Matson was angry, as angry as he had ever been. And he was enjoying every minute of it. Gesturing with his hands, gesturing with his arms, shaking his head in disbelief, and with every swearing word there was laughter, loud laughter, in his voice. He had not felt this good in months. The anger, the sense of engagement in a rightful cause, made him forget the discomfort and, if only for the moment, banished from his mind all thought of his own, not too distant, death. He was still alive. Better yet, he had a reason to keep on living, however short a time he might have.
“Well, for Christ sake, Ismael, what the hell are we going to do about it?”
They were sitting in the ornate comfort of the senate majority leader’s office. Ismael Cooper had come at Matson’s invitation. It was half past six in the evening. Outside the window, the sky had a fiery reddish glow, adding warmth to the plush silence of the thick carpeted room, and a deeper meaning when the silence was broken by speech. Matson reached for his glass, half full of whiskey.
“I’ll get it done,” he sighed. “Don’t know how, but I’ll get it done.” He looked at Ismael, sitting in a pale green upholstered chair the other side of his desk. “I promise.”
“There is great support in the country….”
“Oh, Christ! - Don’t tell me….You know better than - It doesn’t matter what the country thinks. The only thing that counts is what these people I have to deal with think they might have to fear - someone in a primary with more money than anyone has ever seen to spend against them. Remember The Wizard of Oz - the tin man, the straw man, the lion without courage? Take all of them together and you have the perfect description of most members: no brain, no courage, no heart!” Matson laughed. “That’s not bad. So now I get to be the wizard, make everyone think I’ve got a power I don’t. Well, I’ve done that often enough.”
Pausing, Matson bent his head to the side, a question in his tired eyes. It seemed to take all his attention, and for a moment Ismael thought that, though he was sitting right in front of him, he had forgotten he was there. Matson had always done this, slip away to some thought of his own while someone else was speaking, but somehow still listening enough to comment immediately on what he had heard.
“You’re going to take my place,” announced Matson suddenly. Ismael had no idea what he was talking about. “Here, in the senate, when I’m gone. This summer, that’s when I’m resigning. The governor - who wouldn’t be governor if it weren’t for me - is going to appoint you to fill the vacancy. After that,” he remarked, grinning at the look of helpless wonder in Ismael’s mild, modest eyes. “After that, you’re on your own, when you run for a full term, forced to defend all the awful things you helped Julian Drake do to the country.”
There was no reaction, nothing in the way of a reply to the gentle needling about what he could look forward to. Ismael had not gotten past the first, all too stunning, announcement that Louis Matson was leaving, and that, without a word to him, everything had been arranged so he could take his place.
“I can’t…,” he said, stumbling over the words. “And why would you…why are you - leaving? Why resign from the senate?”
Matson took a drink and ignored the question.
“What do you mean, you can’t? You can, and you have to. There isn’t anyone else, no one I would ever trust to fill the seat. Next to Julian, you’re….”
“That’s the point. I can’t. I promised Julian - I promised the president that I would serve the full four years, and I won’t break my word.”
“I know you gave your word. But Julian won’t need you after this summer.”
“Julian won’t…? You talked to him about this?”
“I told him I was leaving, and that you were the only one I thought should take my place. He said he could not agree more. In fact,” he added, “he said he had once told you the same thing.”
“In Cleveland. I remember. He told me….But that doesn’t change anything. He can’t - the president can’t do everything by himself. It isn’t that I think myself irreplaceable,” he added quickly, “but, my God, do you have any idea - you can’t know - what it is like working with him. There is never any stop; the only thing I think he really hates is rest .” Ismael thought better of what he had just said. “No, I can’t explain it. There is constant motion, but all of it so grounded, so connected, that it doesn’t seem like anything is moving at all. I told you, when I came back after that first trip out to California, when he wrote the speech you wanted, that you get the feeling, the impression, that he takes in everything at a glance, but now, after what I have seen, I understand that it isn’t that at all. He takes things in, all right, faster than anyone I’ve ever been around, but the secret isn’t just the quickness of his mind, it’s the study, the constant study, of everything involved. He knows the details - I mean the smallest details - of everything he does. When we were drafting the legislation that was sent to the Hill, he would remember every change we made, every period, every comma. That is what he does, that is who he is: a student, always learning, always trying to find out more. But - and this is more important than anything else - for all his eye for detail, he has an even better eye for what is essential. You start talking to him about something not right on point, his eyes go cold. When it comes to time, he is the most ruthless human being I’ve ever known.”
“Ruthless? That seems a strange way to put it.” Matson sipped slowly on his drink. “Ruthless,” he repeated, rolling the word round his tongue as he rolled the ice round his glass. “Yes, I’ve seen that in him. Never in the way he acted toward another person; always toward himself. That discipline he has. It’s why everyone thinks he’s an enigma: they’ve never seen anyone quite like him. They don’t know whether it is real or not, and, if it is, what it means.”
“Enigma? Someone who doesn’t want, or need, the same things other people want. I wonder if they will think him that after the next move he makes.”
Matson put down his drink and leaned forward on his elbows. “Next move? What next move? What is he going to do now? What has he -?
“I can’t say,” replied Ismael, his small, round eyes shining with the certainty that, for one of the first times, he knew something Matson did not. “‘It’s all a question of what we look up to,’ - that was the way he put it,” added Ismael, with an eager, purposely ambiguous smile, as he rose from the chair and said goodbye.
