Page 375 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

"Yes, but we can't use that against him because he served with the U.S. Army in Vietnam. Saw action, has the medals to prove it."

"Well, find a way to stop these leaks. I don't want to be told why it can't be done. I don't want excuses. I want results. I want it done, whatever the cost."

This was the kind of fighting talk Cam liked to hear. He felt bucked.

Ehrlichman said: "Thank you, Mr. President," and they went out.

"Well, that's clear enough!" Cam said eagerly as soon as they were outside the Oval Office.

"We need surveillance on Murray," Ehrlichman said decisively.

"I'll get on it," said Cam.

Ehrlichman headed for his office. Cam left the White House and walked along Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Department of Justice.

"Surveillance" meant a lot of things. It was not against the law to "bug" a room by placing a hidden recording device. However, getting into the room secretly to place the bug almost always involved the crime of breaking and entering, or burglary. And wiretapping, recording telephone conversations, was illegal--with exceptions. The Nixon administration believed wiretapping was legal if approved by the attorney general. In the last two years the White House had placed a total of seventeen wiretaps, all approved by the attorney general on grounds of national security and installed by the FBI. Cam was on his way to get authorization for number eighteen.

His memory of Jasper Murray as a youngster was vague, but he vividly recollected the beautiful Evie Williams, who had brutally spurned the advances of fifteen-year-old Cam. When he had told her that he was in love with her she had said: "Don't be ridiculous." And then, when he pressed her for a reason, she had said: "I'm in love with Jasper, you idiot."

He told himself these were silly adolescent dramas. Evie was a movie star now, and a supporter of every Communist cause from civil rights to sex education. In a famous incident on her brother's television show she had kissed Percy Marquand, scandalizing an audience who were not used to seeing whites even touch blacks. And she was certainly no longer in love with Jasper. She had dated pop star Hank Remington for a long time, though they were not together now.

But the memory of her scornful rebuff stung Cam like a burn. And women were still rejecting him. Even Stephanie Maple, who was not beautiful at all, had turned him down on the night of Nixon's victory. Later, when they both came to Washington to work, Stephanie had at last agreed to go to bed with Cam; but she had ended the romance after one night, which in a way was worse.

Cam knew he was tall and awkward, but so was his father, who apparently had never had trouble attracting women. Cam had talked to his mother about this indirectly. "How come you fell for Dad?" he had said. "He's not handsome or anything."

"Oh, but he was so nice," she had said.

Cam had no idea what she was talking about.

He arrived at the Department of Justice and entered the high Great Hall with its art deco aluminum light fixtures. He anticipated no problem with the authorization: the attorney general, John Mitchell, was a Nixon crony, and had been Nixon's campaign manager in 1968.

The elevator's aluminum door opened. Cam got in and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

*

In ten years in the Washington bureaucracy, Maria had learned to be watchful. Her office was in the corridor leading to the attorney general's suite of rooms, and she kept her door open, so that she could see who came and went. She was especially alert on the day after the broadcast of the edition of This Day based on her leak. She knew there would be an explosive reaction from the White House, and she was waiting to see what form it would take.

As soon as she saw one of John Ehrlichman's aides go by, she jumped out of her chair.

"The attorney general is in a meeting and can't be disturbed," she said, catching him up. She had seen him before. He was an awkward, gangling white boy, tall and thin, his shoulders like a wire coat hanger for his suit. She knew the type: he would be clever and naive at the same time. She put on her most friendly smile. "Perhaps I can do something for you?"

"It's not the kind of thing that can be discussed with a secretary," he said irritably.

Maria's antennae quivered. She sensed danger. But she pretended to be eager to help. "Then it's a good thing I'm not a secretary," she said. "I'm an attorney. My name is Maria Summers."

He clearly had difficulty with the concept of a black woman lawyer. "Where did you study?" he asked skeptically.

He probably expected her to name an obscure Negro college, so she took pleasure in saying casually: "Chicago Law." But she could not resist asking: "How about you?"

"I'm not a lawyer," he admitted. "I majored in Russian at Berkeley. Cam Dewar."

"I've heard of you. You work for John Ehrlichman. Why don't we talk in my office?"

"I'll wait for the attorney general."

"Is this about that TV show last night?"

Cam glanced around furtively. No one was listening.

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