Trevayne by Robert Ludlum Page A

battleground. If they take me, it won’t be because they want to; they’ll have to. It’ll be because I’ve challenged them.”
    “Challenged them? What for? What about?”
    “Because there’s a profound difference between us.”
    “What does
that
mean?”
    “It means we’re natural enemies.” Trevayne smiled.
    “You’re crazy!”
    “If I am, I’ll apologize. Let’s get this over with.” Trevayne looked up at the panel. He took the time to rest his eyes on each place, each member. “Mr. Chairman, my attorney and I have concluded our discussion.”
    “Yes. Yes, of course.… I believe the Senator from Vermont submitted an addition in the form of the Undersecretary’s … basic philosophy. The chair assumes that to mean
fundamental
political beliefs—not
partisan
—but of a more general application. None other are pertinent to this hearing.” Gillette looked over his glasses at Vermont’s Norton, so to be sure he understood his meaning.
    “Perfectly acceptable, Mr. Chairman.”
    “I was hoping it would be, Senator,” added California’s Armbruster with a chuckle. Armbruster and Norton were not only from different sides of the aisle, but as separated in partisan politics as their states were in geography.
    Knapp spoke without petitioning the chair. “If I’m not mistaken, the Undersecretary countered our colleague’s addition with one of his own. I think he said he reserved the right to raise similar questions with the members of this panel. A right I seriously doubt should be granted.”
    “I don’t believe I made such a request, Senator.” Trevayne spoke softly but with firmness into his microphone. “If it was so construed, I apologize. I
have
no right—or reason—to question your individual persuasions. I’m concerned only that this panel, as one deliberative body, assure me, as I must assure it, of a sense of commitment. A
collective
commitment.”
    “Mr. Chairman?” The petitioner was the elderly Senator from West Virginia, a man named Talley. He was littleknown outside the club, but within it was well liked, as much for his easygoing temperament as for his intelligence.
    “Senator Talley.”
    “I’d like to ask Mr. Trevayne why he even raises the issue. We want the same thing; none of us would be here otherwise. Frankly, I thought this would be one of the shortest hearings on record. Speaking personally, I have great confidence in you, sir. Isn’t that confidence returned? If not personally, at least collectively—to use your term, sir?”
    Trevayne looked over at the chairman, silently requesting permission to answer the question. Senator Gillette nodded.
    “Of course, it is, Senator Talley. And immense respect. It’s precisely because of my confidence
in
you, my respect
for
you, that I wish to be able to refer to this transcript and have it specify that we’ve understood each other. The subcommittee for the Defense Commission will be impotent unless it has the responsible backing of such impartial and influential men as yourselves.” Trevayne paused and ingenuously looked from one side of the panel table to the other. “If you confirm me, gentlemen, and incidentally, I hope that you do, I’m going to need help.”
    The West Virginian did not notice the discomfort of several colleagues. “Let me then rephrase my supplication, Mr. Undersecretary. I’m old enough, or naïve enough, or perhaps both, to believe that men of good will—albeit different opinions—can join together in a common cause. The confidence you seek in us I might hope would be documented by what we say to one another in this room. Should it not be to your satisfaction, you have every right to bring it up. Why not find out first?”
    “I couldn’t hope for sounder advice, Senator Talley. I’m afraid my initial nervousness clouded my perspective. I’ll try not to raise the issue again.”
    Gillette, peering once more over his glasses, looked at Trevayne, and when he spoke, it was clear that he was