A great, unsung, strange dazzle of a novel. The book reads like a very strong version of a fairly-familiar political plot: the Washington insider trying desperately, and perhaps not entirely heroically, to spin his own survival against power blocs. It's steeped in the kind of paranoid musings on charismatic politicians, secret cabals, and backroom bargaining that fuel so many strong political thrillers.
Except that the insider here is an alien, part of the cabal that landed at Roswell, helped engineer JFK's death.
And JFK is currently surfacing, through the current President's medium, as a voice of conscience challenging the protagonist...
...which sounds fucking loony, and is, yet is played with the kind of spartan satirical precision that Richard Condon made seem so easy. And isn't. I really loved this book, and perhaps my memories of its wondrous strangeness give my rating a bounce. (It ranks among my favorite dead-Kennedy novels, and I've read a lot of them.) Good stuff, regardless of the foggy recollection.