Mannington cleared his throat. “Bryce, as you know, I’m on the board of directors for a group known as the Committee for Constitutional Reform.”
“Yes. The CCR was very helpful in what happened today.” Which was more than just back-patting. The Committee for Constitutional Reform was a powerful lobby group made up of two or three hundred of the country’s most influential business, political, and professional leaders. They had thrown their considerable support behind the Hawkes/Larkin bill, and there was no doubt that was a major factor in the day’s victory.
Again it seemed to have been the right thing to say. Mannington nodded, pleased. “Sterling and I are on the executive committee for the board of directors.”
Bryce just nodded, feeling his pulse stirring.
“Today was a major hurdle, Bryce.” Mannington was now very sober in his demeanor. “We cleared it successfully, thanks to you.”
The former secretary of defense leaned forward as Bryce started to deprecate a little. “Oh, we all know that Senator Hawkes played a major role, but your role was pivotal.”
“Today was a tough hurdle,” Mannington said, picking up the lead again, but it certainly wasn’t the last, or perhaps even the toughest.”
That sobered each of them. There were fifty states. Threefourths had to ratify the amendment before it became law. That meant thirty-seven hurdles to go.
“We need someone,” Mannington went on, “someone who’ll see to it that we clear those other hurdles as well.”
Bryce watched them, eyes attentive, but his mind was tumbling wildly. So that was it! He felt a sudden surge of excitement.
“We think you are that man, Bryce,” Jennings said softly.
Bryce felt a chill go through him. “I…Well, thank you. I’m deeply flattered. As you know, I believe strongly in this amendment. I want to see it pass.”
“This could mean a lot to you,” Mannington said, sitting back and sipping his drink.
“Yes, sir. It’s a great opportunity.”
The former secretary of defense flicked a lighter and touched it to another cigarette. “It’s more than that, Bryce,” he said soberly. “Senator Hawkes is thinking about retiring after this term.”
Bryce’s head snapped up.
Jennings puffed deeply, then smiled through the smoke as he blew it out. “That’s right. Massachusetts is going to be needing a new senator in four years. You’ll be thirty-one then. Minimum age for a senator is thirty.”
Bryce looked to Mannington, who was smiling and nodding. “Why not?” he said. “You’ve got the qualifications—Harvard Law School, courtroom experience, public service. You’ve got the looks and personality. Your father is a well-known surgeon and medical professor in Boston.”
They had him now, and they were working him smoothly, jumping from one stunning comment to another. Jennings took the ball now. “Three or four terms in the Senate and we think you might even have a good shot at the White House.”
When Mannington saw the expression on Bryce’s face, he laughed right out loud. “I warned you this would be heady wine.”
“I…“ Bryce blew out his breath, shaking his head in wonder. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” Jennings said with a smile. “Just nod your head if you like what you’re hearing.”
For a long moment, he looked to each of the two men in front of him. Their eyes never faltered. Finally, he smiled tentatively, and nodded his head slowly.
Chapter 3
It was just coming dusk, and the temperature in Washington, D.C., had still not dropped below ninety. As Bryce wheeled his red BMW around the corner and up the ramp of the Senate’s underground parking garage, he turned the air conditioning up to full and loosened his tie.
Traffic was thinning now, but there was still enough that he decided to just let the sports car roll with the flow. He flipped through his box of cassettes, picked out Prokofiev’s “Lieutenant Kije Suite” and pushed it into the tape deck. As the haunting strains of the trumpet solo began, Bryce, for the tenth time, began rehearsing in his mind the meeting with Elliot Mannington and Sterling Jennings. And for the tenth time, he chided himself for the soaring euphoria he was feeling. And yet, on the other hand, somewhere deep inside him he also knew he was not dealing with backyard players. These were the power makers, and if they said it was possible, it was possible! And that left him a little dizzy.
Three blocks later, sitting on the bench at a bus stop, was a familiar figure. He peered through the windshield, then gave a short bark of laughter. It was her! Miss Leslie Adams, with the dark hair, flashing green eyes, and rapier sharp tongue.
On impulse, he buttoned his top button, cinched up his tie again, then shut off the music as he let the BMW pull up smoothly to the curb in front of her. Her head was down, studying a folder of papers. Not until he was directly in front of her did she finally become aware of the car. She looked up, then her eyes widened.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
Good start, he thought with a inward smile. The tone of her voice had lowered the outside temperature by no more than five degrees.
“Say, I’ve been having some pain in my jaw. Any chance for another root canal?”
The temperature dropped five more degrees. “Very funny. Do you do parties?”
“Sorry, I thought a little humor might help.”
“Emphasis on the little.”
He laughed. “All right, so I’m a politician, not a comedian.”
Her head came up slowly. “I didn’t know there was a difference.”
Bryce shook his head ruefully, deciding that her green eyes were very nice, in spite of the glacial ice in them at the moment. “Are you sure you don’t work for the Washington Hatchet?” he asked.
For the first time there was the slightest hint of softening. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”
“Apology accepted, subject dropped.”
She seemed to accept that, then promptly dismissed him again by returning to her reading.
“May I give you a lift somewhere? You’ll melt in this heat.”
She continued reading. “I’m fine, thank you anyway.”
“Hey, really. I promise, no more cracks.”
She shook her head.
Now the challenge was on him. “What if I promise to focus on the real issues?”
Leslie closed the folder and put it in her lap. He thought he saw the tiniest smile crinkling around her eyes. “I debate only in front of television cameras.”
“Let’s call it a rehearsal for the next appearance.”
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but the bus will be here in a minute.”
Suddenly his eye caught a figure about fifty feet down the street. A man was leaning against a tree, watching them. In the dimming light, Bryce couldn’t see him too well, but he had long hair and was dressed in some kind of strange getup. Bryce seized the opportunity.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t want to push you, but seriously, Washington is not the place for a single woman at night.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe. But there’s a guy over there who looks like he would like to test that theory.”
Leslie turned. The man hadn’t moved, but now he was watching them intently. Bryce saw her give an involuntary shudder and knew he had won. There really was something half creepy about the guy.
“Really,” he said, his voice softer now, “I only attack the Constitution. Young women are perfectly safe with me.”
She looked at him for a long moment, turned back once more to eye the man, then gave in. “I live in Arlington,” she said tentatively. “If that’s out of your way—”
“It’s not.” He opened the door. She got in quickly, and Bryce let out the clutch, moving slowly to merge into the traffic. The man had stepped out from beneath the limbs of an overhanging tree and into the light. As they approached, he stared intently at Leslie. She stared back, and just as they pa
ssed him, he suddenly smiled at her, eerily, as if he knew her and exactly what she was thinking. She looked away quickly, suppressing another shiver that ran down her back.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “My car’s in the garage. I don’t normally have to do this.”
He laughed easily, trying to ease the pain of surrender. “Hey, I don’t think I would have stayed at that bus stop with him around.”
Bryce swung up and around past the Capitol, then turned west on Constitution Avenue. It wasn’t the shortest route, but if she noticed, she didn’t comment. As they drove slowly past the Ellipse, with the White House glowing brightly on their right, and the gleaming needle of the Washington Monument on their left, he finally spoke. “So, what do you do besides work for the STC, or is that a full-time job?”
“No, it’s strictly volunteer work. I teach American History at Arlington High School.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. Does that surprise you?”
“Yes, I guess it does.”
“Why?”
“I thought all high-school teachers wore combat fatigues and carried nightsticks.”
For the first time she laughed. He liked it, enough to try to get her to do it again.
He turned left on Twenty-third Street and looped once slowly around the Lincoln Memorial. This was not just for Leslie’s benefit. Bryce had been in Washington for over four years. He loved the city—its pulse and continuing drama. He loved the pressure and the challenge of pitting his own ingenuity and resourcefulness against it. But every now and then, after a harried week or a particularly brutal battle, he would come home this way, past the monuments—the Washington, the Jefferson, the Lincoln, the Kennedy Center, the somber black marble of the Viet Nam Memorial. Often he would get out and walk around, or sit on the grass, or linger in the shadows of the massive pillars. He called these times—which not even Senator Hawkes knew about— his way of keeping in touch with the things that really mattered.
He was pleased to see that Leslie’s eyes were also drawn to the Lincoln Memorial and that she too seemed moved by it. Suddenly, without turning to him, she spoke.
“Do you believe in God?”
That startled him. Finally he shrugged. “Yes.”
“Do you believe he takes a hand in the affairs of men?” She finally turned to watch him.
He let out his breath slowly. He had hardly expected this turn in the conversation. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think he’s got more important things to do than watch over a slightly wobbly, terribly out-of-tune world, but other times…“ His voice trailed off.
“Other times what?”
“Well, believe it or not, I minored in history in college. And there are some times when it certainly makes you wonder if he didn’t take a hand in things.”
She nodded, then with the same unexpected swiftness as before, totally changed tacks. “Your accent isn’t Bostonian.”
It wasn’t a question. He smiled. “No, Californian. We moved to Boston when I was ten.”
“Oh.”
He laughed. “Do you do this with your students?”
“What?”
“Keep throwing them conversational hand grenades?”
That won him his second laugh, deep and throaty. “It drives my father crazy,” she said, nodding.
He pressed her further. “You know that I was raised in Boston, and earlier today you knew I graduated from Harvard Law School. How is it you happen to know so much about me?”
She flushed slightly and dropped her eyes. He waited, a little amused that he had her bobbling the hot potato now.
“I looked you up in Who’s Who in the East.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You don’t need to be, not when you’ve made Who’s Who before you’re thirty.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “Is that a compliment or a cut?”
She smiled faintly. “A statement of fact. Just because I totally disagree with you philosophically doesn’t mean I don’t respect what you have accomplished with your life.”
“Oh.” Though that pleased him, he decided not to pursue it any further and lapsed into silence, asking only for directions as they moved onto the Arlington Memorial Bridge and crossed the Potomac.
Three minutes later she tossed him another one. “How well do you know Elliot Mannington?”
That brought Bryce around sharply to stare at her, and then she really blushed. “On the news this afternoon your name was mentioned as being at the victory celebration. I wasn’t spying on you.”
He nodded, only partially mollified. Nothing in Washington went unnoticed.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“How well do you know him?”
“He and my father belong to the same club in Boston. His firm hired me as a law clerk while I was in law school. I joined his law firm when I graduated. He’s also a longtime friend of Senator Hawkes.”
“Are you a member of the Committee for Constitutional Reform?”
“No.” At least not yet, he added to himself.
“Oh.”
“What?” he drawled. “Not even a ‘Praise the Lord’ or a ‘Hallelujah’ or two?”
“Mr. Sherwood,” she snapped, her voice suddenly cold again, “I know you believe that our governmental system needs reform. I happen to disagree, but I understand how you could feel that way. But the CCR has openly stated that their goal is to completely overhaul the Constitution.”
He kept his voice light. “So maybe it needs some over-hauling.”
“Just like that,” she retorted, the tartness in her voice raising it a notch in volume. “Two hundred years of the finest government the world has ever seen and now you’re going to fix it.”
“Ah, just the point. Two hundred years! You said your car is in the garage? How come?”
She saw it coming but was honest enough to answer him anyway. “The mechanic says the valves are gone.”
“How many miles does it have on it?”
“Eighty-nine thousand.”
“The Constitution has two hundred years. I’d make that just about equivalent to eighty-nine thousand miles, wouldn’t you?”
She took a deep breath, then shook her head quickly. “Turn left here,” was all she said.
For the next five minutes the cool silence in the car prevailed except for her occasional directions. They were moving through a residential section, modern apartment buildings and some single family dwellings.
“It’s not far now,” Leslie said. “Just turn right at the next intersection; then it’s only a few blocks.”
Bryce, feeling a little guilty about his final barb, decided to try to save the ride from ending in total disaster.
“So where do you come from originally?”
She smiled faintly. “I’m a real woman of the world. I was born and raised here in Arlington.”
“No kidding?”
“All right, let’s hear it.”
“Let’s hear what?”
“The last time you said, ‘No kidding,’ there was some kind of crack about combat fatigues and nightsticks. So what have you got to say about natives of Arlington?”
“I envy them,” Bryce said soberly.
She glanced at him sharply.
“I mean it. I love Boston; it reeks of history. But Washington! This is the center of everything. To have lived here your whole life—that must give you more perspective than traveling around the world a dozen times.”
She was watching him closely, to see if he was teasing her again. When she realized he was completely serious, she nodded. “Thank you.”
“You probably know about places to see I haven’t even heard of. I—”
Bryce stopped, staring out the window. They were just passing a streetlight. Standing beneath it, thumb out, was a manlong haired, strangely dressed. Bryce felt a chill. It was the same man at the—
He shook his head and blinked twice. It couldn’t be! He jerked around as they pas
sed. The man was staring directly at him with exactly the same eerie smile he had given Leslie.
“What’s the matter?” Leslie was staring at him, startled by the look on his face.
“That hitchhiker.”
She turned and looked out the window. “What hitchhiker?”
Bryce whirled, but a line of trees now blocked his view.
“I don’t see anyone.”
“Back there. I could have sworn…”
“What?”
“It…It looked like the same guy as the one at the bus stop.”
Her eyes widened. “How could that be?”
“That’s just it, it couldn’t. But he looked right at me.”
“Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose it’s possible. We didn’t take the shortest route through the city.”
He shook his head. “The chances of him taking exactly the same route are astronomical.” He glanced once more in the rearview mirror, then shook his head again. “No, it couldn’t be. It must have just been a look-alike.”
She shrugged. “All these weirdos look the same to me— creepy!”
“True.” He let out his breath slowly, trying to get his pulse to stop pounding as if he had just run a marathon.
Two minutes later, Bryce pulled up in front of an older home with a well-kept yard and turned off the engine and the lights.
Almost immediately Leslie opened the door. “Thank you for the ride. I’m sorry I was so difficult about it. I really do appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “I really hadn’t planned to carry on the debate we started on the Capitol steps.”
The corners of her mouth curved up slightly. “Me neither. I apologize for the hand grenades.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
She got out.
“Listen,” Bryce said suddenly, “I…”
She turned back, her eyes curious.
“I’d like a chance to cross swords again sometime. How about dinner Friday night?”
He was pleased to see that caught her completely by surprise and momentarily flustered her. Most of the girls he went out with had been manuevering toward another date the whole night.