Spencerville

  Her husband won't be out of town until tomorrow.

  Keith felt Charlie kick his foot at the same time Stansfield's idiotic smile dropped. Keith informed Ted Stansfield, Charlie said it wouldn't be a problem.

  Well . . . I suppose it . . .

  Charlie interjected, The lady in question is in the process of a divorce.

  Ah.

  Keith let it go.

  The door opened, and in walked General Watkins in mufti, and another man in mufti whom Keith recognized as Colonel Chandler, though they'd rarely had occasion to speak.

  Charlie stood, as did Ted Stansfield, though as civilians, they didn't have to. Keith wasn't certain he had to either, but he did, and they shook hands. General Watkins said, You look good, Keith. The rest did you good. Ready to get back in the saddle?

  It was a nasty fall, General.

  All the more reason to climb on that horse again.

  Keith knew that Watkins was going to say that, but it was his own fault for giving Watkins the opening for his inane reply. Keith didn't know how many more evasive and inane replies he could come up with before they got it.

  Ted Stansfield said to Keith, You probably remember Dick Chandler, whose job you're going to fill. Colonel Chandler is going on to bigger and better things at the Pentagon.

  Colonels Landry and Chandler shook hands. The man looked relieved to see his replacement, Keith thought, or perhaps Keith was just imagining it.

  Most soldiers didn't like a White House assignment, Keith knew, but it was difficult in peacetime to get yourself out of this place without causing career problems. In wartime, it was somewhat easier: You volunteered to go to the front and get shot at.

  General Watkins, Colonel Chandler, Colonel Landry, Mr. Adair, and Mr. Stansfield remained standing, awaiting the imminent arrival of the secretary of defense. Conversation was difficult, Keith noticed. Small talk in the West Wing was inappropriate if it went on too long, and big talk such as the deteriorating situation in the former Soviet Union was fraught with pitfalls, since anything you said could be construed as official and held against you later. Ted Stansfield saved the day by talking about a new executive directive he'd just read which clarified an earlier directive and had something to do with the worrisome problem of who reports to whom.

  Keith switched channels, but the background static brought to mind the organizational chart of the intelligence community. The National Security Council, on which he had served, was headed by the president's assistant for National Security Affairs, known as the national security advisor, whose birth name was Edward Yadzinski. The job they were offering Colonel Landry was that of Mr. Yadzinski's assistant, or perhaps military aide or liaison, with some connection to the secretary of defense, upon whom they all now waited.

  This organizational chart, Keith recalled, had these neat labeled boxes and rectangles, all somehow connected by tortuous lines that never crossed and resembled an electronic schematic for a nuclear submarine. Unlike an electronic schematic, however, which had to obey the laws of science to work, the intelligence community chart obeyed no known laws of science, God, or nature, only the laws of man, which were subject to executive whimsy and congressional debate.

  That aside, Keith saw no real reason for his old boss, General Watkins, to be present, since Watkins was on the far right side of the chart, over on Seventeenth Street, while Keith was now in the center, a few guys away from the top dog himself. Keith suspected, though, that General Watkins was there to serve a sort of penance for letting Colonel Landry go, which of course was what he'd been ordered to do, but Watkins should have anticipated that, two months later, the president would ask for Colonel Landry by name. Poor General Watkins.

  Watkins, of course, did not have to apologize for giving Colonel Landry the heave-ho, but he had to be present at Colonel Landry's rehiring, and he had to smile, or make what passed for a smile. Watkins was thoroughly pissed off, of course, as he had every right to be, but Watkins wouldn't utter a peep.

  The center of power, Keith reflected, in any time or place, was by definition a haven for lunatics and lunatic behavior—the Kremlin, a Byzantine palace, the Forbidden City, a Roman emperor's villa, the Führerbunker—it didn't matter what it was called and what it looked like from the outside; inside was airless and dark, a breeding ground for progressive madness and increasingly dangerous flights from reality. Keith had a sudden impulse to charge for the door, shouting something about the inmates running the asylum.

  General Watkins said, Keith, you have that smile on your face that used to annoy me.

  I didn't know I was smiling, sir, and never knew it annoyed you.

  That smile was always a prelude to some smart remark. Can we expect one now?

  General, I'd like to take this opportunity to—

  Charlie Adair interrupted. Keith, perhaps you'd like to hold that thought for another time.

  Keith thought the time was perfect to tell Watkins what he thought of him, but at that moment the door opened, and the secretary of defense ambled in. He was a slight, balding man with spectacles, not the type you'd guess would be head of the most powerful military machine on the face of the earth. And his meek appearance didn't mask a strong personality—there was no Mars, God of War, lurking in that frail body. He looked like a milksop, and he was a milksop.

  Ted Stansfield presented the secretary of defense, who smiled, shook hands all around, and said to Keith, Delighted you could come.

  Delighted to be here.

  Stansfield pulled out a chair at the end of the long table, and the secretary sat. General Watkins and Colonel Chandler were directed by Stansfield to the secretary's right, and Keith and Charlie were directed across from them. Ted Stansfield, still standing, said, Mr. Secretary, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment. He left.

  The secretary looked at Keith and said, Well, Colonel Landry, you're probably wondering why you've been asked to come out of retirement, so I'll tell you. You made a favorable and lasting impression on the president during some of the intelligence briefing sessions, and a few days ago, he asked for you by name. The secretary chuckled and added, When someone told him you'd retired, he said you looked too young to retire. So here you are. He smiled at Keith.

  Keith considered several replies, including a recitation of Charlie's Scottish ballad. Instead, he took the occasion to set the record straight and said, I was asked to retire, sir. It wasn't my idea. He didn't glance at General Watkins, because that would have been petty. Keith added, But I've got twenty-five years of service, and I'm quite comfortable with my present situation.

  The secretary didn't seem to follow all of that and replied, Well, your name has been placed on the list for promotion to general officer. The president will review that list shortly.

  Keith, still trying to get something on record, said, I'm no longer on active duty, sir, having retired from the Army at the same time I retired from government service. So I assume this promotion will be as a reserve officer on the inactive rolls.

  The secretary had his own agenda and continued, The position you are to fill is that of military aide and advisor to the president's national security advisor. Colonel Chandler will brief you on your duties later. The secretary added, Your office will be here in the West Wing.

  He said West Wing, Keith thought, as if he were saying at the right hand of God. And here they were, in the seat of power, where proximity to power was itself power, a short walk to the Oval Office— where you could literally bump into the president in the corridor— the very epicenter of national and international moving and shaking. It was not the sort of workplace, Keith thought, where your friends or family could drop in and have a cup of coffee or ask you to lunch. Keith asked, Would my office be on the second floor or in the basement?

  Colonel Chandler answered, In the basement.

  Can you see the sky? I mean, is there a little window?

  Chandler seemed a bit bemused. He replied, It's interior. You get a secretary.
>
  Do you have plants?

  Charlie Adair forced a smile and explained to everyone, Colonel Landry has spent the last two months on his family's farm and has become nature-sensitive.

  How delightful, said the secretary of defense. He asked Keith, Do you have any questions for me, Colonel?

  The man was half out of his chair and staring at his wristwatch, so Keith replied, No, sir.

  The secretary stood, and so did everyone else. Good. If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have another appointment. He looked at Keith and said, General Watkins's loss is the White House's gain. Good luck. He left.

  General Watkins seized on the defense secretary's departure as his opportunity to say to Keith, I'm surprised you decided to return to Washington. I had the feeling you'd had enough.

  I had.

  The general looked at him quizzically and added, Maybe a new job will invigorate you.

  Keith replied, Perhaps when I'm wearing the same star that you have, sir, we can engage in some sort of athletic contest to see who has the most vigor.

  General Watkins did not seem happy with that remark, but sensing a subtle shift in the power structure, he let it pass. He said, Well, gentlemen, you don't need me any longer, and I, too, have an appointment. Good day. He looked at Keith and said, Politics is not your strong suit, Colonel.

  Thank you.

  Watkins departed, leaving Keith, Charlie Adair, and Colonel Chandler standing in the Cabinet Room. Since they were all peers, more or less, they sat without anyone inviting them to, and Keith took a seat several places away.

  Chandler was speaking about the job, and Keith tuned out again. This entire so-called meeting was a staged performance, with a cameo appearance by the secretary of defense. It was also part protocol—the secretary was Colonel Landry's big boss, if Keith still considered himself a soldier—and the other players had their bit parts as well. Charlie Adair was Judas, General Watkins was the scapegoat, Colonel Chandler was Pilate washing his hands of the whole mess, and Ted Stansfield was the emcee. Keith knew his part but was not delivering his lines very well.

  Keith's thoughts turned again to Annie, and he wondered what she'd make of all this if she were here. As he'd said to Charlie, she was a simple country girl, but she wasn't stupid, and in fact she'd done far better academically in high school and college than he had. She had also come from the same midwestern populist tradition that he had, and if she were here in this room, he had little doubt that she'd find all of this pomp, protocol, and pecking order slightly distasteful, and undoubtedly she'd see through this nonsense in a lot less time than it had taken him.

  In the early days of his service, the world was more dangerous, but the government seemed to him a lot simpler and more benign. There had been men around in those days who'd helped defeat the Axis powers, men who were dedicated public servants and not pigs at the government trough, men with a sense of purpose and mission. Now even the Vietnam generation of men, such as himself, were retiring or were being asked to leave, and he didn't particularly care for the new crop.

  During the next five minutes, Colonel Chandler described the duties and responsibilities of the job, putting it in the most favorable light, forgetting to mention twelve-hour days, homework, or crises in countries whose time zones, holidays, and Sabbaths didn't mesh well with those of Washington, D.C.

  Keith interrupted Chandler and asked, Did you enjoy it?

  Enjoy? He thought a moment, then said, It's very stressful here in the White House, but very rewarding.

  How can anything stressful be rewarding?

  Well . . . it can be. Maybe I should say I felt I was doing something for my country, not for myself.

  But were you doing the right thing for your country?

  I thought I was. I was. It's not over, you know. There are still a lot of bad guys out there.

  Right. Maybe the new good guys can handle the new bad guys.

  We have the experience.

  We're experienced with the old bad guys. We may possibly understand the new realities, but we think in the old way. He looked at Colonel Chandler and asked him, Do you suggest I take this job?

  Chandler cleared his throat and glanced at Adair, who made a motion with his hand as if to say, Answer the man.

  Colonel Chandler thought a moment, then replied, I'm glad I have it in my resume, but I wouldn't wish these last two years on my worst enemy.

  Thank you.

  The door opened, and in strode Edward Yadzinski, the president's national security advisor. Everyone stood, and Yadzinski shook hands all around. He said to Keith, I'm delighted you could come on such short notice.

  Thank you, sir. So am I.

  I have another appointment, but I wanted to chat a moment. I've read your file, and I'm quite impressed with the range of your experiences from rifle platoon leader to your last assignment. I'm looking for someone like you who will be forthright and honest with me. Colonel Chandler will vouch for that. I like military men because they have the attributes I want.

  Yes, sir. And Keith thought, because they usually had no political ambitions, they followed orders, and they could be transferred easily instead of having to be fired. Like priests or ministers, military officers had a calling that theoretically transcended their careers or personal lives. People in the executive branch found it useful to have a certain number of military people on staff: indentured servants in mufti.

  Yadzinski continued, Your former colleagues speak well of you, Colonel. Right, Charlie?

  Charlie Adair agreed. Colonel Landry was an asset to my department and respected throughout the intelligence community.

  Keith said to his potential boss, I never got along with General Watkins, and I caused Mr. Adair a lot of anxiety.

  Charlie winced, but Yadzinski smiled. You're not much of a diplomat, are you? In fact, I was present that time in the Situation Room when you asked the secretary of state if we had a foreign policy. He chuckled. I like that. And I'll back you up, Colonel. I work directly for the president, and you work directly for me.

  Keith thought he might actually like Yadzinski and would have liked working for him five or six years ago. But it was too late. Keith said, Despite my differences with Mr. Adair, I found him to be extremely knowledgeable, competent, and dedicated. Keith was glad he'd gotten that in, but clearly Yadzinski wasn't paying attention. Yadzinski said, Colonel Chandler can answer any of your questions better than I can. He put out his hand, and Keith took it. Yadzinski said, Welcome aboard, Colonel. As he shook hands with Keith, he looked at his watch. I have another appointment. Still clasping Keith's hand, he asked, When can you start?

  Well, I'd like to take the weekend to consider—

  Of course. Monday would be fine. Colonel Chandler will you your office.

  Charlie said, Colonel Landry lives in Ohio, sir.

  Great state. Good day, gentlemen. He turned and left.

  Keith looked at his watch and said, I have another appointment. Good day, gentlemen.

  Charlie forced a smile and said, You have an appointment with the president.

  Colonel Chandler added, You're to wait in the waiting room until you're called. He grinned and said to Keith, I don't have another appointment. I'm out of here. He went to the door, then turned and said, If you wander around downstairs, you'll find my office. I've left my number if you have any questions. It's all yours. He left, and though Keith did not hear the word sucker, it hung in the air.

  Keith said to Charlie, Charlie, I don't think we're in Spencerville anymore.

  What gave you that impression?

  As they walked to the door, Keith said, They may be surprised to discover that Colonel Chandler's office is empty on Monday.

  Take the weekend to think about it. Yadzinski's one of the good guys in this administration. Give it a try. What do you have to lose?

  My soul.

  They went out into the hallway and took the small elevator down to the basement again. Charlie asked, Do you want to find your office
?

  No.

  They went to the waiting room and waited. Charlie said, as if to himself, I think I'm off the hook. Thanks for the plug.

  Keith didn't reply. He read a newspaper.

  Charlie suddenly laughed and said, So, can you get back to Ohio, pack everything, return to Washington, find an apartment, furnish it, and be at work Monday morning?

  Keith looked over the top of his newspaper but said nothing.

  Charlie said, I guess he didn't know you'd left D.C. Well, but I did tell him . . . maybe he wasn't listening.

  Keith turned the page of the newspaper.

  I could clear that up. You can take a few weeks.

  Keith glanced at his watch.

  Charlie continued, But I see your point. This place is a pressure cooker.

  Keith refolded the newspaper and read a story in the metro section about rush hour traffic jams. The minutes ticked by.

  Charlie said, But to say you work in the White House . . . wouldn't your lady friend be proud and impressed?

  Without looking over his paper, Keith replied, No.

  Don't tell me it's not tempting.

  Keith put the paper down. Charlie, administrations come and go, White House jobs are about as secure and long-lasting as a bronco ride. Look, I don't want to be critical or judgmental, but I'm being put in that position, and I don't like it. It should be enough for me to say that I decline the offer for personal reasons. Okay?

  Okay.

  An appointments secretary came in and said, Colonel Landry, the president will see you now.

  Good luck, said Charlie.

  Keith stood, and everyone in the waiting room looked at him as he followed the appointments secretary out.

  They went up the elevator again and walked down the corridor to the Oval Office. A Secret Service man at the door said, A few minutes.

  The appointments secretary reminded him of the protocols and told him not to step on the Great Seal that was woven into the carpet. Keith inquired, Should I jump over it?

  No, sir, walk around it to the left. The president's aide will go around to the right, then you continue on toward the desk. The president is running late and will not ask you to sit but will come around and greet you a few feet from the desk. Please be brief.