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

an appointive office anywhere in the country is being asked the same as we are. It’s to show the voters that they’re going to get a new beginning. ‘A new beginning’ is the phrase we’ve picked for the first year of this term. We might even get a couple of extra bills through the Democrat Congress on the strength of that phrase alone. But we have to do something to make it look like more than hollow words. This is part of that something. Do you understand?”
    Ober looked around, seeing dismay on some faces, dogged acceptance on others. His foot tapped a disjointed rhythm behind the desk, in an unseen but habitual accompaniment to the thoughts on his mind. There was Coles, whose resignation would be accepted with little regret: a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word loyalty. Bender, in the corner, would be left to sweat it out for an extra week and ponder the significance of Ober’s words.
    “Those of you who have been loyal to the President,” Ober said, “have nothing to fear. But loyalty must come first, even before our jobs. If it was in the President’s best interest for me to quit my job, I’d resign tomorrow.”
    Teaseman stood up now, at Ober’s nod. “I’ve prepared a model resignation form we can all follow,” the stout man from Press Relations said. “Of course, for your job description and accomplishments in office you’re, heh heh, on your own.” He sat back down.
    “Any questions?” Ober asked.
    “Whose bright idea was this?” That was Barry Coles, puffing on his unlighted pipe.
    Ober drew his tight lips apart in a smile. “We may all give suggestions and ideas to the President,” he said, “but the decisions are his alone.” And I’m going to enjoy putting it to you, you insubordinate son of a bitch!
    Sten Craig, Ober’s aide, raised his hand, and Ober nodded to him. “What are the legal implications of this, jobwise?” Craig asked. “Like, what happens to seniority and benefits if you put in your resignation?”
    A perfect question, perfectly timed. That should get their minds off the moral aspects of this thing. Hit ’em in the job if you want to get their attention. Ober had been proud of the question from the moment he thought it up two hours earlier. “The resignation will not affect job benefits,” he said. “Unless, of course, it’s accepted. And I’m sure none of us in here have to worry about that.”
    The thin smile came on his face again. “Let’s have them in to the Oval Office by Monday morning, okay, fellows?”

    It was early Thursday afternoon when Kit got back to his office in the Executive Office Building, having spent the morning at a CIA briefing.
    Barry Coles had the next office. A thin, ascetic Columbia economics professor who had been brought into the administration as a token Eastern intellectual, he spent most of his time puffing on his pipe, reading airmail editions of British magazines, and preparing position papers that disappeared, unread, into the files.
    Now he was methodically packing up the belongings in his desk. “I hate to part with the electric stapler,” he said, waving the device at Kit as he paused in the door. “I feel as though it’s grown to be a part of me, and I part of it.”
    “You could claim it followed you home,” Kit said. “What happened, you finally quit?”
    “I hand in my papers with the rest of the herd,” Coles said, “fully expecting to be—I think the expression is culled.’”
    “What papers?”
    “You don’t know? Where’ve you been this morning? We’ve all been requested to hand in our resignations. Part of the President’s ‘New Broom—Clean Sweep’ program. They will not, of course, be accepted. Except in a few cases—like mine.”
    “You think this is all one of Charlie Ober’s machinations?”
    “It has all his earmarks, doesn’t it? Little sneaky move that looks good till you get up close to it. You want to see my resignation?” He pulled a paper off his