‘If you turn down a Bundestag seat now, the offer might never be renewed.’
‘I know.’
Dave said to Rebecca: ‘I want you to come with me back to San Francisco and persuade Walli.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow would be good. I’ve already made flight reservations.’
‘Tomorrow!’
But there was really no choice, Rebecca thought. Walli’s life was at stake. Nothing compared with that. She would put him first; of course she would. She hardly needed to think about it.
All the same, she felt sad about turning down the thrilling prospect that had been so briefly held out to her.
Dave said: ‘What did you say, a moment ago, about the Bundestag?’
‘Nothing,’ Rebecca said. ‘Just something else I was thinking of doing. But I’ll come with you to San Francisco. Of course I will.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you.’
Rebecca stood up. ‘I’ll pack a bag,’ she said.
50
Jasper Murray was depressed. President Nixon – liar, cheat and crook – was re-elected by a huge majority. He won forty-nine states. George McGovern, one of the most unsuccessful candidates in American history, got only Massachusetts and the District of Columbia.
Worse, as new revelations about Watergate scandalized the liberal intelligentsia, Nixon’s popularity remained strong. Five months after the election, in April 1973, the President’s approval rating stood at 60–33.
‘What do we have to do?’ Jasper said frustratedly to anyone who would listen. The media, led by the Washington Post, revealed one presidential crime after another as Nixon scrambled desperately to cover up his involvement in a break-in. One of the Watergate burglars had written a letter, which the judge read out in court, complaining that the defendants had been subjected to political pressure to plead guilty and remain silent. If this was true, it meant that the President was trying to pervert the course of justice. But voters seemed not to care.
Jasper was in the White House briefing room on Tuesday, 17 April when the tide turned.
The room had a slightly raised stage at one end. A lectern stood in front of a backdrop curtain that was coloured a television-friendly shade of blue-grey. There were never enough chairs, and some reporters sat on the tan carpet while cameramen jostled for space.
The White House had announced that the President would make a brief statement but take no questions. The reporters had assembled at three o’clock. It was now half past four and nothing had happened.
Nixon appeared at four forty-two. Jasper noticed that his hands seemed to be shaking. Nixon announced the resolution of a dispute between the White House and Sam Ervin, chair of the Senate committee that was investigating Watergate. White House staff would now be allowed to testify to the Ervin Committee, although they might refuse to answer any question. It was not much of a concession, Jasper thought. But surely an innocent president would not even be having this argument.
Then Nixon said: ‘No individual holding, in the past or present, a position of major importance in the administration should be given immunity from prosecution.’
Jasper frowned. What did this mean? Someone must have been demanding immunity, someone close to Nixon. Now Nixon was publicly refusing it. He was hanging someone out to dry. But who?
‘I condemn any attempts to cover up, no matter who is involved,’ said the President who had tried to shut down the FBI investigation; and then he left the room.
Press secretary Ron Ziegler mounted the podium to a storm of questions. Jasper did not ask any. He was intrigued by the statement about immunity.
Ziegler now said that the announcement just made by the President was the ‘operative’ statement. Jasper immediately recognized that as a weasel word, deliberately vague, intended to obscure the truth rather than to clarify it. The other journalists in the room saw it too.
It was Johnny Apple of the New York Times who asked whether that implied all previous statements were inoperative.
‘Yes,’ said Ziegler.
The press corps were furious. This meant they had been lied to. For years they had been faithfully reporting Nixon’s statements, giving them the credence due to the leader of the nation. They had been taken for fools.
They would never trust him again.
Jasper went back to the office of This Day, still wondering who had been the real target of Nixon’s statement about immunity.
He got the answer two days later. He picked up the phone to hear a woman say, in a trembling voice, that she was secretary to White House counsel John Dean, and she was calling senior reporters in Washington to read a statement from him.
This in itself was bizarre. If the President’s legal advisor wanted to say something to the press, he should have done so through Ron Ziegler. Clearly there was a rift.
‘Some may hope or think that I will become a scapegoat in the Watergate case,’ the secretary read. ‘Anyone who believes that does not know me . . .’
Ah, thought Jasper, the first rat abandons the sinking ship.
*
Maria was amazed by Nixon. He had no dignity. As more and more people realized what a fraud he was, he did not resign, but stayed in the White House, blustering and obfuscating and threatening and lying, lying, lying.
At the end of April John Ehrlichman and Bob Haldeman, White House Chief of Staff, resigned together. Both had been close to Nixon. Because of their German names they had been dubbed ‘the Berlin Wall’ by those who felt shut out by them. They had organized criminal activities such as burglary and perjury for the President: could anyone possibly believe that they had done those things against his will and without telling him? The idea was laughable.
Next day, the Senate voted unanimously for a Special Prosecutor to be appointed, independent of the tainted Justice Department, to investigate whether the President should be charged with crimes.
Ten days later, Nixon’s approval rating fell to 44–45 – the first time he had ever scored negative.
The Special Prosecutor went to work fast. He began to hire a team of lawyers. Maria knew one of them, a former Justice Department official called Antonia Capel. Antonia lived in Georgetown, not far from Maria’s apartment, and one evening Maria rang her doorbell.
Antonia opened the door and looked surprised.
‘Don’t say my name,’ said Maria.
Antonia was puzzled, but she was quick-witted. ‘Okay,’ she said.
‘Could we talk?’
‘Of course – come in.’
‘Would you meet me at the coffee shop along the block?’
Antonia looked bewildered but said: ‘Sure. I’ll ask my husband to bathe the kids . . . um, give me fifteen minutes?’
‘You bet.’
When Antonia arrived at the coffee shop she said: ‘Is my apartment bugged?’
‘I don’t know, but it might be, now that you’re working for the Special Prosecutor.’
‘Wow.’
‘Here’s the thing,’ said Maria. ‘I don’t work for Dick Nixon. My loyalty is to the Justice Department and to the American people.’
‘Okay . . .’
‘I don’t have anything particular to tell you right now, but I want you to know that if there is any way I can help the Special Prosecutor, I will.’
Antonia was smart enough to know that she was being offered a spy inside Justice. ‘That could be really important,’ she said. ‘But how shall we stay in contact without giving the game away?’
‘Call me from a pay phone. Don’t give your name. Say anything about a cup of coffee. I’ll meet you here the same day. Is this a good time?’
‘Perfect.’
‘How are things going?’
‘We’re just getting started. We’re looking for the right lawyers to join the team.’
‘On that subject, I have a suggestion: George Jakes.’
‘I think I’ve met him. Remind me who he is.’
‘He worked for Bobby Kennedy for seven years, first at Justice when Bobby was Attorney General, then in the Senate. After Bobby was killed, George went to work at Fawcett Renshaw.’
‘He sounds ideal. I’ll give him a call.’
Maria stood up. ‘Let’s leave separately. Reduces the chance of our being seen together.’
‘Isn’t it terrible that we have to act so furtively when we’re doing the right thing?’
‘I know.’
‘Thank you for coming to see me, Maria. I really appreciate it.’
‘Goodbye,’ said Maria. ‘Don’t tell your boss my name.’