The waiter prepared the drinks—hefty doses of whisky, equal amount of water, two ice cubes. Graham was no stranger to the Lafayette Room.
They tapped glasses and took a swallow.
“Well?” the old man asked.
“Actually, I was talking about Howard Hughes,” Graham said.
“Don’t change the subject, Alex.”
“I must have missed something. What subject was that?”
“You know goddamn well! The subject is my grandson: When do I get Cletus back?”
“Well, actually, we were talking about Howard and Clete.”
“I think you’re trying to weasel out of answering me, but go ahead.”
“The President wanted to know the story behind the Constellations. In other words, how come, in the middle of a war, Howard got away with selling thirte
en of the fastest transport airplanes in the world to Argentina.”
“He didn’t sell them to Argentina. He sold them to Clete, who is not only an American but a Marine Corps lieutenant colonel with the Navy Cross.”
“Really?” Graham said sarcastically. “I never knew that.”
“I’m not surprised,” the old man said. “But the story I got was that Howard was just about ordered to sell—at least strongly encouraged to sell—them to Clete.”
“Because Franklin Roosevelt thought he had been crossed by Juan Trippe and wanted to pay him back,” Graham said. “Harry Truman hadn’t heard that story.”
“And you’re surprised? Roosevelt never told his Vice President about the atomic bomb either. How did the subject come up?”
“Just before Truman went to Berlin, Howard offered him one, a specially configured VIP version intended for some general. The general suddenly remembered that Truman had made his reputation as a senator going after the brass taking care of themselves at taxpayers’ expense. So he canceled the order. There being virtually no market for a VIP-configured Constellation—Truman told me the inside of this one looks like a flying brothel—and wanting his money, Howard talked Admiral Souers into taking it.”
“Who?”
“Rear Admiral Sidney W. Souers. He’s a reservist, and Harry’s buddy. Good man. We went to the Naval War College in 1938 together. Anyway, he’s close to the President, duties a little vague. Truman flew to Berlin in the Sacred Cow and Sid, after picking up Clete, by the way, in New Orleans, flew there in the Constellation.”
“Stop there and tell me about ‘picking up Clete in New Orleans.’”
“Clete had business with the President.”
“What kind of business?”
“I can’t tell you, Marcus. Sorry.”
“I’m not accepting that, but go on about Berlin.”
Graham took a sip of his scotch, then said, “When Sid got to Berlin, he bubbled over with enthusiasm for the Constellation, which is really a much better airplane than the Sacred Cow, which is a converted Douglas C-54. Truman heard that Clete was flying back to Buenos Aires in an SAA Connie. He had other things on his mind—this was the day he told George Marshall to immediately shut off all aid to Russia—and he didn’t say anything. But he didn’t forget either. So today he asked me about SAA having Connies, and I told him what I knew.”
“Tell me what you know about Clete and Truman.”
Graham ignored the question.
“Truman made Sid give the Flying Brothel back to Howard. You could probably buy it cheap, if you’re interested.”
“Tell me what you know about Clete and Truman,” the old man repeated.
“Marcus, I really can’t.”