Part 33 - The Memory of Barry Goldwater (Thursday, 11 September 1970) Barry Morris Goldwater had been elected as junior Senator for Arizona less than two years ago. It was rare for such a junior senator to be on the prestigious Senate Armed Forces Committee. But Barry was no ordinary junior senator. He had previously served two six-year terms, throwing it all away on a quixotic attempt to unseat President Johnson in 1964. It was because of his membership of the Armed Forces Committee that he was now appearing before the Senate Select Committee on the Conduct of the Vietnam Conflict. Acting Deputy Chair, Robert Dole, was asking "Did you have a conversation with a member of the Johnson Cabinet about the conduct of the Dallas Program?" The Dallas Program! Barry had served in the United States Army Airforce during WWII. He knew that in warfare, in modern economic warfare, to defeat the enemy you had defeat the enemy's means of production. Sometime civilians were killed. That was unfortunate but it was the way things were. You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs. But to deliberately target civilians for execution! It was sick making. It didn't matter that they might be administrative officials - politicians and civil servants of the enemy. The American people wouldn't stand for it if Viet Cong agents started showing up in Arizona and murdering the mayors and the mailmen. And Barry had spoken to an Administration official about just this at one of those Georgetown soirees last year. But who? It couldn't have been Hank. Hank still had his accent back then and Barry would have remembered. Was it Bobby? Or Bob? Either way it was clear that Lyn was in this up to his miserable, oversized ears. And for a man of Lyn's height, that was a considerable way. Barry had it in his power to sink Lyn, to sink him once and for all. He was certain of what was said but not who said it. Barry was getting old. Some of his friends had told him he should run for President again. He laughed. If he ran in 1972 he'd be a year older than Dwight Eisenhower - America's oldest President - had been when he was elected in 1952. Besides, Richard Nixon had lost in 1960, run again eight years later and lost again. Barry didn't want to be remembered as a loser like Dick. No the torch had been passed to a new generation. The GOP candidate would be a younger man - Reagan would be ideal.[1] Barry was an Episcopalian of Jewish descent. As such, he was the embodiment of the Judeo-Christian ethic. He couldn't say what he wasn't sure of. "I can't recall," he declared. An exasperated Chairman, Senator Sam Ervin, called a short recess.

"We had him! We had Lyn on toast and Barry just crumbled!" Sam exploded. "Hey, relax Sam," said Bob, "We missed the king hit, true. But we're building a watertight case. Three to six months, Lyn'll be impeached." Sam was about to say, "But the midterms are only two months away", but realized the GOP senator might not be sympathetic to Democrat electoral concerns. What good was getting President Humphrey in 1971 with the party already decimated?

(Monday, 15 March 1971) It was a victory parade unlike any London had seen before. Peggy had decreed that the Liberation of Fiji was not just a victory for HM Government and the armed forces but for the working classes from which said government and armed forces were so heavily drawn and for the people of the world. Consequently, while the parade was led from Armoury House to the Guildhall by the small group of survivors from HMS Cavalier[2], and while the Army, Royal Navy and Royal Marines all marched, they were interspersed with groups representing TUC affiliated unions and contingents of foreign students ably organised by Tariq Ali. The RAF were also allowed to march, more by way of encouragement than a recognition of any particular achievement. And if the RAF were here, who could gainsay the Post Office Engineering Union or the Vietnamese Patriotic Student Society? The music was eclectic too. Military and works bands together played God Save the Queen, the Red Flag, Rule Britannia, the Internationale and New Jerusalem Man. Officially HM the Queen was indisposed. The crowd understood why that might be and bore her no resentment. And so it was left to Peggy to take the salutes and clenched fists of those who marched past her. A few onlookers thought some of the innovations unnecessary but deemed it unpatriotic to say so.

Marion sat between Ted and Jeremy at the memorial service in St Paul's. In the row opposite Ted saw the Lord Chamberlain sitting with one of his assistants. The fool! Having young, fit, attractive researchers was one of the perquisites of a front bencher but Ted's rule was always, "Look but don't touch." Young people could sometimes be so indiscreet. Far better an experienced, wise companion with as much to lose as oneself. And above all, to save frightening the horses, one must show no sign of one's sexuality it public. Ted shot a glance at Marion and wondered, not for the first time, if she knew just what a tiger Jeremy could be. The Cathedral was packed. There was certainly a lot of mourning to be done. Families, from the highest to the lowest in the country, had suffered bereavements. Mercifully, the new Bishop of Bath-and-Wells had kept his homily short. It had been many years since Ted had heard such a marxian sermon. The Bish was a new boy and his selection had causes a ruckus in the CofE. It was the Low Church's turn for a see but just to be on the safe side they had nominated a communist as one of their candidates. Apparently he was the wrong sort of communist and both candidates had been bounced by the PM's office. That left the Evangelicals stuck as socialists were in short supply for them, unless they wished to go to the ranks of the Modernists. And so the Anglo-Catholics, who had no shortage of candidates of the right political alignment, got their man up. The bells-and-smells were crowing so much about their victory that Ted had no doubt the Low wing would put up a Modernist marxist next time, if that's what it took. The organist then played the introduction to the next hymn. An old organ scholar himself, Ted immediately recognised the tune. That work by Gustav Holst, 'Thaxted'. Entirely appropriate for a post-war memorial service, Ted thought.       I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above;       Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;       The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,       That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best; [3]

(Wednesday, 17 March 1971) Denis Healey placed the two documents on the Prime Minister's table. "Official report into the causes and conduct of the Fiji Conflict, draft thereof," the Defence Secretary announced, "and secret annex, final version." Jennie Lee, the Home Secretary, nodded. Peggy just said, "Summary, please, Denis." Denis cleared his throat. "The FCO cocked up. The report doesn't say it that bluntly, but that's the gist of it. Better management of the Mara faction could have avoided the coup." He paused. "We'll have to sack the whole set of FCO ministers," announced Peggy. Denis was relieved. He hadn't thought it would be this easy. Peggy must have picked up his concern. "I've already given some thought to this. Jimmy has to be given a spell from the government. I've got some other task to keep his hands busy and him out of mischief until he can be rehabilitated. And Jim needs a change, too." This last comment of Peggy's was true. Jim had been increasingly unhappy and frustrated as Chancellor. His one achievement, implementing the M3 measurement of money supply, had been lost in the raft of new metrics and statistics coming out of Michael Foot's Ministry for Economic Planning. With Jim as Foreign Secretary, Peggy could go ahead with her plans to merge Treasury with Economic Planning. "And Jim would be just the man to get Britain the same ambiguous position in relation to NATO and the Warsaw Pact as France enjoys," Peggy declared. Denis saw nothing ambiguous about the French position. The Frogs just wanted the Force du Frappe under their own control. So if the Russians ever entered West Germany they could deal with two traditional enemies for the price of one. The fact that Russia had been allied with France during the last two world wars was irrelevant in French eyes. Anyone who had helped defeat Napoleon was a traditional enemy. "Will Michael be able to cope with such a big department?" worried Jennie, whose own department was the largest in the government. "If not, I have some new people in my Cabinet Office who are more than able to give advice and assistance," said Peggy, generously. It was time for Denis to address the secret annex. "The worst case scenario given to us by the Defence Chiefs before the Liberation Fleet sailed was 1,500 deaths. As you know, the actual figure was almost twice that. What should have been a simple, short, sharp anti-insurgency campaign became a debacle. "The reason for this tougher than expected resistance is due to unforeseen and large quantities of weapons and munitions in the hands of the rebels. These weapons appear to have been provided by Australian intelligence[4] and paid for by the CIA." "This is outrageous!" exclaimed Jennie, "The Australians had declared their neutrality and Johnson promised us all available non-lethal support. What happened?" Denis made a steeple with his hands, "The Australian government profess total ignorance and plausibly so. One of their agents may have been reporting directly to Washington on this one." A look of distaste crossed Peggy's face. The idea of an intelligence officer in the pay of a foreign country! Thank goodness it couldn't happen here. "With the Americans the picture's less clear," Denis explained, "We can trace the responsibility through the CIA and up to Kennedy. It's uncertain whether Johnson was involved. Remember, its about this time that Kennedy either resigned or was sacked." "Nearly 3,000 dead," said Jennie, "Who do we punish? The Fijians who killed them, the Australians who supplied the weapons, or the Americans who paid for them?" "The Fijians have already lost Mara," said Peggy, "The Australians... you might as well punish a brick wall. They'd have no idea of what we were doing to them. The Americans..." she paused. Both Denis and Jennie knew better than to interrupt. "The Americans. Can't we just tear strips of them through channels?" Denis wondered if he should use the "with respect" phrase. He decided against it and to tell a story instead. "Prime Minister. When we conduct NATO exercises there are a distressing number of blue-on-blue incidents..." "Blue-on-blue?" asked Jennie. "Incidents where shells are fired at, or bombs dropped on, friendly troops. Of course, these are just exercises, nobody is killed. The point is, if it was an actual war, they would be. And most of these blue-on-blue incidents are committed by the Americans. Remonstration is futile. Their attitude is 'accidents happened but it's only an exercise.' They are careless and they care less." Denis knew he was sounding browned-off but couldn't help himself. "What are you saying, Denis?" asked Peggy, "I should kill Johnson?" "No, Prime Minister," said Denis hastily, "The last American president died violently. To lose two in succession would be a suspicious coincidence - we might even end up being blamed for the assassination of the beloved President Kennedy." "Kennedy," repeated Jennie, "The current one. He was definitely implicated in the plot?" "And an earlier one," said Denis, "There was a plot on Enoch's life just before the election. The CIA were behind it and presumably Kennedy was behind that." "There you are then," said Jennie, "He's tried to kill Powell, he's responsible for Windsor's death and the death of thousands of others. He's the mastermind. It's only a matter of time before he tries to kill Peggy." "Steady on, Jennie," said Denis. "Kennedy's out of office now, he can't kill again. "Jennie has a point, Denis," intervened Peggy, "With the revolving door style of government the Americans have, Kennedy could be holding a ministry again after next year's election. It would be best if he were eliminated. But," she warned, "this is not to be done by a British agent. I do not want to jeopardise the special Anglo-American relationship." "The Canadians?" asked Jennie. "Too independent minded," explained Denis, "Wait! The Australians are severely into our debt as a result of all this. We'll get them to do it."

(Friday, 19 March 1971) Don was not a happy man. Locals claimed that Canberra at least had four distinct seasons - unlike, say, Brisbane. Don considered the Australian capital had but two, too hot and too cold. Today was the former. Sir John Menadue wanted to see him. To add insult to injury, Johnno was one of Eddie's men, Don had no say in his selection. If Johnno wanted to see him, things must be pretty crook. "Prawn in the hubcap, Johnno?" Don asked. "'Fraid so, Don" Johnno replied. "Mother country asking a favour. PM doesn't want to know but the favour has to be granted." Johnno gave his boss a pitying look. "Okey-dokey," said Don, resignedly, "give us the drum."

(Monday, 22 March 1971) Jimmy was humming to himself as he walked to Bush House.       My baby loves love       My baby loves lovin'       She's got what it takes       And she knows how to use it. Jimmy had watched Space Marines! last night. The show had certainly changed since he'd seen it a year or two ago. Before the United Planets was an imperialistic polity expanding through the universe. Now the UP's Marines were a force for liberation, allowing previously oppressed planets to become full members of the United Systems. It was amazing that a show could be reformed in such a way, without altering the popularity of the show with children - and, if truth be told, a certain class of polytechnic student. But the children still played Space Marines! in the street exactly the same way as they did two years ago, oblivious to the fact the Marines were now on the side of the angels. No, Jimmy no longer had concerns about the telly. It was radio that worried him. It was its immediacy, and the fact that so many wrong voices were getting an airing. Jimmy had done another uncharacteristic thing at the weekend. He'd resigned from the Labour party after membership spanning a generation. But just as Caesar's wife must be above suspicion, so must the Prime Minister's husband. Especially now that he was the Director General of the BBC.       I was lonely once in this great big world       Just a nowhere man without his girl       When she came my way       She smiled at me as if to say       My baby loves love       My baby loves lovin'       She's got what it takes       And she know how to use it.[5]

(Monday, 30 March 1971) The Pan-Am 707 was coming in to Los Angeles to land and Duncan was still struggling with the damn form. His fellow passengers had long finished their visas and were now enjoying to complementary Coca-colas and salted peanuts. Just reading the questions was a struggle. "Have... you... ever... used... planned... or... advocated... violence... against... the... United... States... government... or... its... officials?" Finally he puzzled out the question. It was time to lie. "No," he wrote in large block capitals.

(Wednesday, 1 April 1971) Hubert Horatio Humphrey Junior pleaded nolo contendre[6] to charges of failing to declare for income tax purposes a $30,000 payment from a sympathetic farming corporation[7]. Hubert certainly didn't consider himself guilty of failing to declare income. A one-off payment was a windfall, it did not have the nature of frequency and repetition that characterised income. However the IRS auditor intimated that he knew of other similar payments so Hubert decided not to make a federal case out of it. At least it was an internal IRS hearing. An in camera hearing with guarantees of confidentiality. This meant the public would never hear about it.

(Thursday, 2 April 1971) Duncan had found his Mug[8]. The cove's parents must have thought him so good they named him twice. The Mug had a bee in his bonnet about the Mid-East, didn't like the American Government's even-handed approach. Thought they should tilt more towards the Arabs. Just so. His specific grievance didn't matter, the fact he had such a strong grudge made him a tool. Now Duncan had to find a professional killer. A country as big as the United States was must have the equivalent of the Painters and Dockers, he reasoned.

(Saturday, 4 April 1971) The two men were sitting in the bar at the ranch. "Well, it was in all the papers. I had to accept his resignation," Lyn explained. "Indeed, Mr President," John Connally agreed, "What else could you do? But now you've got a tough choice. Who's going to be your new Veep?" "Well John, as one of my oldest friends I was hoping you..." "Now hold your horses, Mr President You need someone who'll pass through Congressional approval mighty quick and right now that ain't me. And those folk are going to be looking 'specially hard at any nominee seeing as how..." John caught the look in Lyn's eyes and his voice trailed off. "If you'll just let me continue, John," the President smiled, "As one of my oldest friends I was hoping you would advise me." "Can we talk as men here, Lyn?" "Yes, John." "You want the ." "The ?" "Yup. That Ivy League sissy Kennedy." "John," said Lyn slowly, "I don't mind so much that Bobby is an . It's that he's such a lying, dishonest, backstabbing bastard with it. He's resigned from my Cabinet once already." "So he could position himself to run in 1972. With the Kennedy name, he'd sail through the hearings. You take him in, the job itself isn't worth a bucket of warm..." A light gleamed in Lyn's eyes, "But he'd take it. And then he'd be inside the tent pissing out." "Exactly!" said John. "But here's the clincher. I'm close to the Republicans. And I know a bunch of them would refuse to impeach you while Bobby's your Veep. "I need to go away and think about this, John," said Lyn. He stood up, opened the bar door and walked out to look for a beagle.

(Wednesday, 15 April 1971) "The way I see it, Bobby, I owe Barry big. I think he deserves a freedom medal." "With respect, Mr President," began Bobby. Don't you start with-respecting me, Lyn thought, glowering. Just having Bobby in the room gave him chest pains. He should never have listened to John. At least I'll be getting the little runt out of Washington for a while. "If you gave it to him," Bobby continued, "it'd look a bit too much like services rendered." "I thought of that Bobby. I was wondering if you could deputise for me? Phoenix, next Monday?"

(Monday, 20 April 1971) Don't go to Washington, said Duncan. He's too well guarded there now. But he'll come out West soon. Wait. So the Mug had waited. And his long wait would be rewarded. There had been security at the Biltmore Hotel but he'd done what Duncan had told him to sneak his gun into the ballroom. And there was the Vice President now. But the Senator guy kept getting in the way. Now there was a clear opportunity. He raised his pistol and someone jostled his arm. A shot cracked. Did I do that? the Mug wondered as he was wrestled to the floor.

Springtime in Phoenix. The temperature had reached 93'F that afternoon. Even in the Biltmore with all its air-conditioning Bobby was still too hot. But he'd almost reached the end of his speech. "Senator Goldwater, it gives me great pleasure to give you this medal as a token of a distinguished career as a..."

With a sudden jolt of recognition, Barry remembered. It was Bobby who had mentioned the Dallas Program. Bobby had been talking about civilianizing the process and how the President had been smiling on the whole deal. As soon as this ceremony was over he had to get on the phone to Sam. This would blow the case wide open!

"...distinguished career as a city official, a member of the United States armed forces, a Senator..." There was a disturbance over on the left of the ballroom. Then a loud bang. In horror, Bobby saw Barry's head suddenly jerk. Back and to the left. [If you'll just let me continue.]

[1] Ronald Reagan is only two years younger than Barry. But in politics, perception is everything. [2] The small number of Cavalier survivors on parade was even smaller than it might be, the decision being made that to allow the injured and maimed to march would detract from the victorious nature of the event. [3] I Vow to Thee My Country Words: Cecil Spring-Rice Music: Gustav Holst. [4] The word you are grasping for is not 'oxymoron' but 'tautology'. Hope this helps. [5] My Baby Loves Lovin' Words and Music: Cook/Greenaway. [6] A Latin phrase used in plea bargaining that loosely translates as, "Maybe I did and maybe I didn't. In all the excitement back there I kind of forgot. Do you feel lucky, punk?" Latin is a commendably concise language used by lawyers who charge by the word and have their clients' financial interests at heart. [7] In our time line this might have been Archer-Daniels-Midland, or ADM for short. [8] Patsy