Shadow of Power Read Free Page B

furor over Scarborough’s book. The author had fed the flames in local news interviews with the media the day before.
    On the national scene, it was like watching a torchlight parade. Inner cities had lit up across the country on a swath that corresponded precisely with Scarborough’s book tour. People marching through the streets demanding that the language be removed from the Constitution found themselves met by police.
    Scarborough was a lawyer first, a writer second. He had thought about this. Not the riots and violence, but the manner in which the Constitution was amended. This was time-honored and hallowed. It had been followed for two hundred years and would require a constitutional amendment itself to be changed. It was perfect. The book gave light to a problem that politicians couldn’t fix by waving their legislative wand and merely passing a law. It could take years to remove the slavery language from the Constitution.
    The more Scarborough flogged the issue on television, the louder was the outcry from people who’d never realized that the words were there to begin with. It was like an accelerator on a car—the harder he pressed, the more anger it produced. The racial heat generated controversy, which in turn produced sales. All the while, Scarborough, his hair flying in the breeze, was enjoying the ride.
    Bonguard picked up the newspaper and looked at the pictures and the story. “Of course, if L.A. or other cities burn, it wouldn’t do to be caught carrying gasoline,” he said. “What I mean is—”
    “I understand what you’re saying. I have done nothing to provoke violence. I have said nothing to encourage people to take to the streets.”
    “Still, unless Osama nukes us,” said Bonguard, “it looks like we’ll be displacing terrorism on the front pages for a while. The Black Congressional Caucus is already engaged. When they hear about the letter tonight, they’ll ransack all the old dusty volumes in the Library of Congress looking for the original.”
    Nice try, thought Scarborough. “Well, they won’t find it there. Lookat it this way: All we’re doing is exposing history to the light of day. We didn’t put the words in the Constitution or decide how it should be amended. And I certainly didn’t write the words in that letter. No, we’re just messengers delivering the message.”
    Scarborough smiled at him. It was the kind of roguish grin that usually kept even his enemies from disliking him entirely.
    “Of course, your publisher’s gonna be a little nervous,” said Bonguard. “No doubt they’d have convulsions if they knew what you were going to do tonight.”
    “Let’s not bother them with it.”
    “It is their book tour.” Bonguard caught his client’s eye. The author’s expression answered his question, the reason all this was so secret.
    There was a knock at the door.
    “Speak of the devil. That would be Aubrey,” said Scarborough. James Aubrey was Scarborough’s editor. “Not a word about tonight.”
    “Your call.” Bonguard knew that if the publisher found out, Scarborough would fire him in a heartbeat, since he was the only possible source. He headed for the door.
    Scarborough could hear their idle chatter.
    “Dick.”
    “Jim. How’d you sleep last night?”
    “Good. And you?”
    “Fine. Went out, had a drink. Hit the sack early.”
    “How’s our man?”
    “He’s in the bedroom. Come on in.”
    A couple of seconds later, the two of them appeared in the door to the bedroom. Jim Aubrey was in his late twenties, looking harried and a little frazzled. He wore thick-rimmed glasses, a sport coat, and a tie that looked as if it had been inherited from an earlier generation.
    “Morning,” said Aubrey. “You up for tonight?”
    “Ready as ever,” said Scarborough.
    “I guess you guys saw the protesters down in the lobby.”
    “How many?” Bonguard wanted numbers.
    “I don’t know. I didn’t count ’em. Probably twenty-five or thirty.”
    “It’ll