Terrible Swift Sword by Paul Grossman

Author:Paul Grossman [Grossman, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw, mobi
Published: 2016-01-28T23:00:00+00:00

- 24 -

At the White House of the Confederacy that night the lights burned late. The Kingfish sat with his advisory council, swirling cognac in a snifter and listening to their sob stories. Bureau Chief Cobb delivered an impassioned sermon with the vim of a snake handler, all conjecture and suppositions and burning hunches-- not a single fact. Pritchet swore on every spy he had there was no conspiracy in the armed forces. And chief political advisor Wilcox whined and wailed about how bad it looked-- real bad Boss-- counseling putting off the accord with Germany until the mess blew over. Motherfucker.

“You sound like my wife, Willy.” Long laughed, trying to bring a little proportion to the conversation. He put the cognac down. “Come on. You can still smell an old-fashioned smear campaign can’t you? That’s all this is. A goddamn smear. How many times have we had this kind of shit thrown at us over the years?”

“Mr. President, pictures of skeletal escapees on the front page of every major world newspaper is hardly the same as--”

“Relax. We’ll fix it. Just like we fixed all the others.”

“We’ve had protests from fifteen nations, threats of economic sanctions and a proposed vote of condemnation at the League of Nations.”

“I said RELAX goddamn it!”

This was getting out of hand Long knew, and he hated when that happened. The thing to do he knew was take it back. He lit a cigar and puffed in and out, contemplating.

“You may be the eyes and fists of this government, gentlemen-- but let’s not forget who the brains is. Cobb--” He looked at the sweaty-faced cop. “You saved my ass last time so I’ll forgive your dereliction now. But by tomorrow I want to know exactly who’s behind this crap and where MacArthur is. You got that?”

“Naturally Mr. President.”

“In the meantime, we’ll need a strong cover. Arrest and charge a dozen men by morning.”

“But, Mr.--”

“It’s my understanding you have a grandson in the C.S. Air Corps, is that right?”

He noticed Cobb stiffen. “Yes sir. That is.”

“You must be very proud of him.” Long looked at him piercingly.

Cobb was speechless.

“Coordinate your story with Munson. Munson, make sure it’s in the morning papers.”

The tan-faced publicity man was furiously scribbling notes. “You want Re-Unionists, MacArthurists or Yankees behind it?”

Long puffed his cigar. “Make it drug peddlers. A ring. Imply Yankee financing.”

“Oh that’s rich!” Munson snickered. “I couldn’t have come up with better. The facts are falling into place suddenly --” He removed his glasses and held out his hand as if seeing it all before him. “An armed gang of narcotics bandits raid the camp’s modern medical facilities-- which few people realize Southern prisoners enjoy-- and after stealing storerooms full of medications force hundreds of sick and dying men into the wilderness with no food or water. I’ll have it out in no time, photo sets, and interviews with doctors, nurses, prisoners who returned on their own. First newsreel in twenty-four hours.”

“Eighteen.”

“Sure boss.”

“As for you, Earle. In the unlikely event

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