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This Senate citation is turned over to Special Prosecutor Cox for consideration by a grand jury. An indictment results, and the custodian is arrested. The case comes before Federal District Judge John J. Sirica, who decides against the custodian's plea of Executive privilege. Sirica orders that the tapes be delivered to the Senate committee. The White House appeals, first in the Washington Circuit Court of Appeals, then in the Supreme Court, losing both times (though that is by no means certain). It is now early autumn. The President then either yields to the Supreme Court ruling and furnishes the tapes or ignores it, though it is almost inconceivable that he would not obey the highest court. If he does ignore the ruling, the Senate has no way to see that the court order is enforced and Nixon retains his tapes. But, according to this hypothetical scenario, the Congress then resorts to its final weapon. Since the President is in clear and direct violation of his oath to uphold the laws of the land, he is impeached.
That, of course, is only one complex hypothesis of what might happen.
But the momentum of the Watergate hearings has carried far beyond a mere matter in which "others wallow," while Nixon blithely ignores it. The combat over custody of the tapes—even if they are inconclusive—is not some quaint, theoretical argument between two contesting branches of Government. Nor is it a political witch hunt. The dispute carries great portents for basic concepts of justice, for public confidence in the Government and, most personally, for Richard Nixon. If ever recorded conversations were, indeed, of historical significance, the President's tapes are profoundly so—and long before their appointed time.