It was true, and Grant knew it. True, anyway, that Desmond Fowler didnt understand why the Union should be preserved, or that the men and women on the other side of that line were not all godless foreigners. They were not dogs to be killed or tamed, any more than the Union armies were fodder to be sacrificed in pursuit of what, precisely?
The Great Experiment.
Leaving a nation in the hands of its people, to govern itself. A terrible risk barely a hundred years old, and it could not fail so soon, so completely. Grant believed that with all his heart, because if a successful democracy was not possible, then what alternative was there? Chaos or kings, he supposed. And he regarded both with equal dismay.
Sir, you want to end the war, Fowler started afresh.
Doesnt everyone? The president asked it too flippantly, given the company.
My program is our best option. Not the prettiest, not the easiest political decisionno ones trying to make that case. But its for the best, and we need your authority to proceed. We need your signature to release the funds from the War Department. Otherwise the program will languish, and we will miss our window of opportunity.
Im sure another one will open. I just I cant. Not yet. Come back when you have more information, better numbers, or a better idea of how, exactly, this weapon would work. At present, you cant even guess the extent of the damage. Theres no research to say that it wont poison the land for a thousand years.
Youre asking for guarantees.
Im asking for absolutes. I thought you liked those.
But that could take weeks! Months!
Then youd better get started, Grant said, as he flicked a glance toward the door. He heard a familiar noise approaching from down the hall, and was relieved to realize that hed discovered a way out of this interminable, wheedling conversation. Right now, I think. I have another visitor,
and I need a word with him in private.
Before Desmond Fowler could muster a response, the incoming hum grew louder and a mechanical chair appeared in the doorway. Fowler sprang to his feet, and made a small, formal bow. Mr. Lincoln, sir.
President Grant got to his feet somewhat more slowly, but he was balancing his weight against the alcohol in his blood. He leaned on the arm of his sturdy chair and smiled a greeting. Abe, its good to see you. Come on in. Pull up to the fire. Fowler was just on his way out.
For a moment, Grant thought Fowler might fight him on itthat he might scramble for some excuse to stay, some flattery he might apply or some social pressure he might leverage. Thankfully, he decided against the effort in time to politely bow again.
Yes, I was just leaving. But its been a pleasure as always, Mr. President. And Mr. Lincoln. He retrieved his overcoat from a rack by the door and took his leave.
When Grant and Lincoln were confident that Fowler was well out of hearing range, Lincoln adjusted his chair, backing up and pulling forward again so he could shut the office door. While he did this, Grant moved his normal guest chair aside to make room at the hearth.
Abraham Lincoln said, I was afraid youd be in the yellow oval. Its a fine office, but I find it hard to reach, these days.
Nah. I dont like that office. Too big, too much to look at. I cant get a damn thing done in there. Can I get you a drink?
No, thank you. But dont let my temperance stop you from having another.
I never do. President Grant refreshed the whiskey before dropping back into the big armchair. Its leather had become so fire-warmed that it stung, but he liked the sharp heat seeping through his clothes.
Lincoln removed the blanket that covered his knees, folding it over the arm of his chair. His long, knobby legs leaned slightly to the right, and his shoulders stooped to the left, but the chair had been created with his height in mind and he looked more or less comfortable. Minus the eye patch, and with the addition of his infamous hat, he might have looked like he was just sitting down and not confined there.
What did Fowler want you to sign this time?
Something for the War Department. I told him no.
Then hell be back, Lincoln said quietly.
Well, he is the Secretary of State. If he didnt come back, Id have a problem. Another problem, I mean. There are always plenty to go around. He changed the subject, fishing for a more casual tone or topic. So, why are you out and about tonight? Im always happy to see you, but I thought Mary had some kind of party she was using to hold you hostage.
That was last night, and I didnt attend. Im not much of a dancer anymore. He smiled, and the top of his scarred cheek disappeared under the edge of his eye patch. I never liked parties much, anyway.
Me either. But I hope it went well.
I expect that it did. Now, let me ask you something: Have you heard about what happened to the Jefferson?
A memory flickered at the back of Grants mind. Hed heard something that morning, part of a briefing that had piqued his interest. The science center? They told me there was an explosion last night during the party.