The Fourth K by Mario Puzo

Christian said. “But only for a month. Think you can hold out that long?” He was smiling.
    “I sure do,” the Oracle said. “That shit is on every TV station. Take my advice, my boy, buy stock in the TV companies. They will make a fortune out of this tragedy and all the forthcoming tragedies. They are the crocodiles of our society.” He paused for a moment and said more softly, “How is your beloved President taking all this?”
    “I admire that man more than ever,” Christian said. “I have never seen someone in his position more composed over a dreadful tragedy. He is much stronger now than after his wife died.”
    The Oracle said dryly, “When the worst that can happen to you actually happens, and you bear it, then you are thestrongest of men in the world. Which, actually, may not be a very good thing.”
    He paused for a moment to sip his tea, his colorless lips closed into a pale white line like a scratch on the seamed nicotine-spotted skin of his face. Then he said, “If you feel it’s not breaking your oath of office or your loyalty to the President, why don’t you tell me what action is being taken.”
    Christian knew that this was what the old man lived for. To be inside the skin of power. “Francis is very concerned that the hijackers have not yet made any demands. It’s been ten hours,” Christian said. “He thinks that’s sinister.”
    “So it is,” the Oracle said.
    They were both silent for a long time. The Oracle’s eyes had lost their vibrancy, and seemed extinguished by the pouches of dying skin beneath them.
    Christian said, “I’m really worried about Francis. He can’t take much more. If something happens to her …”
    The Oracle said, “There will be a very dangerous confrontation. You know, I remember Francis Kennedy as a little boy. Even then I was struck by how he dominated his cousins. He was a natural hero, even as a young boy. He defended the smaller ones, he made peace. And sometimes he did more damage than any of the bullies would have done. Black eyes darkened in the name of virtue.”
    The Oracle paused and Christian poured him some hot tea though the cup was still more than half full. He knew the old man could not taste anything unless it was very hot or very cold.
    Christian said, “Whatever the President tells me to do, I’ll do it.”
    The Oracle’s eyes were suddenly very bright and visible. He said musingly, “You’ve become a very dangerous man in these past years, Christian. But not terribly original. Allthrough history there have been men, some considered ‘great,’ who have had to choose between God and country. And some very religious men have chosen country over God, believing they would go to everlasting hell, thinking it noble. But, Christian, we have come to a time when we must decide whether to give our lives to our country or to help mankind continue to exist. We live in a nuclear age. That is the new and interesting question, a question never before posed to individual men. Think in those terms. If you side with your President, do you endanger mankind? It’s not so simple as rejecting God.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” Christian said. “I know Francis is better than Congress, the Socrates Club and the terrorists.”
    The Oracle said, “I’ve always wondered about your overwhelming loyalty to Francis Kennedy. There are some vulgar gossips who say it’s a very faggy business. On your part. Not his. Which is odd, since you have women and he does not, not since the death of his wife three years ago. But why do the people around Kennedy hold him in such veneration, when he’s recognized as a political dunderhead? All those reformist and regulatory laws he tried to shove down that dinosaur Congress’s throat. I thought that you were smarter than that, but I presume you were overruled. Still, your inordinate affection for Kennedy is a mystery to me.”
    “He’s the man I always wished I could be,” Christian said. “It’s as simple as