The Last President: A Novel of an Alternative America Read Online Free PDF Page B

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry, Mr. Schuster, but I have nothing to say on that subject.”
    “Right,” Schuster said. He stood up and pulled a card case out of his jacket pocket. “Here’s my card,” he said, extracting one from the case. He scribbled on it with a ballpoint. “That’s my home phone, if you want to get me direct for any reason. You can leave messages at the Post number anytime—twenty-four hours. Thank you for talking to me.” He flipped the card onto the desk.
    “I wish I could help you,” Kit said.
    “I can wait,” Schuster said. “Five months already, like you said.” He left the office and strode down the hall, his oversized raincoat flapping almost to his ankles.

CHAPTER THREE
    Ralph Schuster didn’t approve, and the expression on his face showed it. Here he was standing in the middle of the third level of a parking garage in downtown Washington at three o’clock in the morning feeling like a jackass—and probably looking like a sneak thief if the security man should happen to drive by. And whoever he was supposed to meet was nowhere in sight.
    Mysterious phone calls from husky-voiced women might lead to clandestine meetings—indeed, should lead to clandestine meetings—but not in the middle of a for-Christ’s-sake parking garage.
    A pencil flashlight blinked briefly at him from inside one of the three cars on the floor: a late-model gray Chevy. He walked over to it and peered in through the windshield. There was a woman in a gray coat behind the wheel, and she motioned him into the passenger’s seat.
    Schuster climbed into the seat and closed the door. He noticed that the interior light didn’t go on when the door was open. The woman immediately reached over him and pushed down the locking button.
    “What’s this all about?” Schuster said. “Why the melodrama?” There wasn’t enough light for him to get a good look at the woman. He had an impression of a thin, angular face of indeterminate middle age.
    “This isn’t a joke, Mr. Schuster,” she said in a husky whisper. She turned to look at him. “I’m neither melodramatic nor paranoid. You must believe that if you wish to ever see me again.”
    “You haven’t told me yet why I want to see you at all,” he said.
    “First the ground rules,” she said. “You’re not taping this, are you?”
    “No.”
    “Good. Rule one: Don’t ever tape our meetings. And don’t ever take notes until you get home.”
    “No notes?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Lady, I’m a reporter. It’s my job to take notes.”
    “And you have to swear to me that you’ll never reveal your source to anyone, from your girl friend to your city editor. Anyone.”
    “Why all the secrecy?” he asked. “What are we talking about?”
    “Do you agree?”
    He thought about it for a moment. “Of course,” he said. “Yes. If it’s worthwhile. Otherwise I’ll just forget I ever saw you.”
    “You will never forget,” she said.
    “Okay,” he said. “What are we talking about?”
    “We’re talking about malfeasance in high places,” she said. “We’re talking about first-degree felonies, including burglary, arson, wiretap, bribery, and conspiracy to commit kidnapping and extortion. All conducted out of the Executive Office Building at the direct order of the President of the United States.”
    Schuster stretched his feet out and leaned back. “Go on,” he said.

    PRESIDENT ANNOUNCES NEW
    3-MAN SUPERCABINET
    ODER—VANDERMEER—GILDRUSS
    Friday, January 5, 1973, special to the Washington Post
    In a surprise news conference in the Oval Office this morning, the President announced the appointments of Charles Ober, Uriah Vandermeer, and Dr. Peter Gildruss as the three chief officers in a new “Supercabinet” to oversee the executive branch of the government.
    “The reorganization,” the President said, “will be along the guidelines set up in a report by the President’s Advisory Council on Executive Organization, a group that