"Dean Ing - Silent Thunder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ing Dean)

to the Lord to give Walter Kalvin a sense of humor, though it was plain He had more
important things to do because, while Walt knew how to laugh in public, he retained the
cold intensity of dry ice and all the good humor of a headstone. People said that Harry
Rand, in private, was exactly the same as President Harrison Rand in public, and this
pleased him because, as he used to tell his Missouri congregation, what you see ought to
be what you get.

Some had forced comparisons between this Harry and another Harry from Missouri who
had occupied the White House half a century before. It only bothered Harry Rand when
they suggested that the other Harry had been a little swifter of thought, and more his
own man.

Nobody had ever accused Harry Rand of special beauty, with his ruddy, round and open
face, free-swinging expansive gestures, somewhat larger than life, given to bright vests
that kept his belly in. He envied Walt Kalvin for his waist measurement, which had not
changed on that wiry frame in the years since the two had met in Kansas City.

And Kalvin's friendship had led here, to the Oval Office? and, at the moment, to the
small adjoining conference room in the West Wing. Lyndon Johnson had called it the
little office; more recently it had been called the think tank. Beatrice Rand, in one of her
first acts as First Lady, had refurbished it in euromodern style and now, alone with his
chief advisor and half reclining in a pillowy lounge chair, Harry Rand rested the heels of
his loafers on the top of a coffee table that floated on permanent magnets above its
base.

Snazzy, weird and wildly expensive, Harry mused. Lord, where would I be today without
old Walt? Delivering benedictions back in KayCee, most likely. He gazed with affection
across the table at Kalvin, who was talking as he always was; explaining this, urging that.
Often, Harry listened, sometimes with rapt attention when Walt called from the Executive
Office Building just across the drive. You had to hand it to Walt, on a telephone or
radiophone call the man was a demon of persuasiveness. But at other times? now, for
example? Harry's mind tended to wander.

Why the heck didn't Walt accept an office in the West Wing, where we could talk face to
face anytime his President wanted him? Well, Walt had a fetish about that; he had
always, from the early days of that first bewildering senatorial race in Missouri, depended
more on a good intercom system than face-to-face discussion. In fact, most of Walt
Kalvin's special ideas seemed to develop best over the intercom. Which one of them was
he pushing now? Harry Rand tuned his mind back to the man who sat facing him in a
Barcelona chair, and caught Walt's drift after a moment. The Federal Media Council...
... Must have a more responsible press, Kalvin was saying, if we want strong grass-roots
support for your programs. There's nothing like bushels of mail from the public to move
those hidebound bastards on Capitol Hill.

Now, Walt, said Harry, with the sad little smile he always used when Kalvin became
profane. There's plenty of time to work that out.

No, there isn't. Other presidential advisors were far more circumspect, would at least
precede a flat disagreement by 'with all due respect, Mr. President,' but not old Walt
when it was just the two of them. Those codgers on the Hill are experts at wasting time.