Carter Beats the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page A

hair, caterpillar eyebrows, and the sculpted nose of a Roman senator. Yet in a glance, shrewd men noted his legendary weak nature: his several chins, too-wet mouth, and his gentle, eager eyes. More than one person who saw him during his last week on earth commented on his apparent deterioration. Even if they did not know of the extraordinary pressure he was under, they could see it reflected in his slack-skinned complexion.
    Carter, who frequently had to size up a man in an instant, saw something more dismal. He remembered an unfortunate creature he’d seen in New Zealand: a parrot that had evolved with no natural enemies. Happy, colorful, it had lost the ability to fly and instead walked on the ground, fat and waddling slowly, with no sense that anyone could mean it ill. When humans arrived and shot into a flock of them, the survivors would stand still, confused and trusting that a mistake had been made, actually letting people pick them up and dash their brains out against the ground.
    Harding approached Carter with his right hand extended. “I am so very, very pleased to meet you, sir.”
    “Mr. President.” When they shook hands, Harding jumped back shocked: he now held a bouquet of tuberoses.
    “For Mrs. Harding,” Carter said softly.
    Harding looked around, as if checking with his company to seewhether it was dignified to show delight. Then he cried, “Yes, these are the Duchess’s favorites. Wonderful! You’re quite good. Isn’t he good?”
    They were a standard gift from Carter to potentates, fresh flowers—from his own garden, if possible, and in midsummer, his tuberoses were beautiful and fragrant.
    “Now,” said Harding, “I’m supposed to talk with you man-to-man about my perhaps going onstage tonight. I have an idea.”
    “Yes?”
    “You might not know this, but when I was a boy, I did a lot of magic tricks.”
    “No!”
    “Let me tell you a couple I know pretty well,” the President said slyly.
    Carter fixed a smile on his face. While Harding spoke, he focused on his ability to hold his breath and listen to his own heartbeat. As soon as Harding finished, Carter said, “Let us think about that.”
    Harding leaned in close, whispering. “I understand you have an elephant tonight. Do you think I could see him?”
    Carter hesitated. “I can take you. But not your aides. She’s in a small space, and a crowd would frighten her.”
    Harding turned to a pair of Secret Service agents, who shook their heads—no, they would not let him out of their sight. Harding’s lower lip went out. “There, you see, Carter? So much for being a great man.” He wagged his finger at the agents. “Now, listen here, I’m going to see the elephant. Take me to him, Carter.”
    Puffed up like he’d negotiated a tariff, Harding passed through a curtain Carter pulled back. The two men walked side by side down a narrow corridor toward the rear wall of the backstage area.
    They passed the solitary figure of Ledocq, who nodded politely at Harding, and made sure Carter saw him tapping on his watch. “Not much time, Charlie.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You have your wallet?”
    Carter touched his trouser pocket. “Yes.”
    “Good. Always take your wallet onstage.”
    Harding produced a hearty chuckle. He seemed uncomfortable with silence, so, as he and Carter continued walking, he admitted he had never seen an elephant up close, though at his recent trip to Yellowstone, he had hand-fed gingersnaps to a black bear and her cub. He was elaborating on his poorly scheduled trip to a llama farm when Carter drew back a tall velvet curtain.

    “My God.” They were in a small but high-ceilinged area closed off from the rest of the theatre with screens and soundproofing. There were two cages: one for the elephant, one for the lion. There were no handlers. The animals were quite alone. The elephant, eating hay, stomped twice on the floor when she saw Carter, who rubbed her trunk in response. She was wearing a jeweled headdress