Nelson DeMille - Spencerville

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."

"Should I tell him I voted for him?"

The appointments man regarded him a moment, then glanced at the appointment schedule in his hand as if to reassure himself that this guy was on the list.

The door opened, and a young female aide showed him in. They walked the length of the oval-shaped office together, over the royal-blue carpet, and detoured around the Great Seal, then back toward the president's desk, which sat in front of the big south-facing windows. Keith noticed it was still raining.

The president came around the desk to greet him, smiling, and extended his hand, which Keith took. The president said, "I'm delighted to see you again, Colonel."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"We've missed you around here."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you all settled in?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Mr. Yadzinski will see that you are. He's a tough boss, but a fair one."

"Yes, sir."

"These are difficult times, Colonel, and we value a man of your experience and honesty."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

"Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"

This was the traditional question, asked by presidents, generals, and others in positions of high authority. A long time ago, probably before Keith was born, this was a real question. These days, with everyone running a bit late, the question was rhetorical, and the answer was always, "No, sir." But Keith asked, "Why me?"

The president seemed momentarily thrown off balance, and the aide cleared her throat. The president said, "Excuse me?"

"Why did you ask specifically for me, sir?"

"Oh, I see. Well, I remember you as a man who impressed me with your knowledge and good insight. I'm delighted to have you here." He put out his hand and said, "Welcome to the White House, Colonel."

Keith shook hands with the president and said, "Thank you for inviting me, sir."

The aide tapped Keith on the shoulder, they both turned and walked the length of the oval, avoiding the Great Seal on the floor, and a man opened the door as they reached it.

Keith found himself in the hallway, minus the aide. The appointments man said, "Thank you for coming, Colonel. Please meet Mr. Adair in the lobby."

Keith went to the lobby where Adair was standing, looking, Keith thought, a bit anxious. Adair asked, "How did it go?"

"Sixty-seven seconds, counting the detours around the Great Seal."

They were shown out of the West Wing, and their driver hurried over to them with an umbrella. On the way to the car, Adair asked, "What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"Does he think you accepted the job?"

"He does."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll think it over."

"Good. I've made a reservation for lunch."

They got into the car, and Adair said to the driver, "Ritz-Carlton."

They left the grounds of the White House, and the car made its way through the rain-splashed streets heavy with lunch hour traffic. Adair said, "You showed just the right amount of reserve and reticence. They don't like people who seem too eager or too self-promoting."

"Charlie, this was not a job interview. It was a draft notice."

"Whatever."

"Would you take that job?"

"In a heartbeat."

"You should take some time off to evaluate your life, my friend."

"I have no life. I'm a federal employee."

"You worry me."

"You worry me. You in love?"

"That's irrelevant. I don't want to return to Washington."

"Even if there were no Annie Baxter?"

"This subject is closed."

They rode in silence, and Keith watched the city go by outside his window. He'd had some good times here, he admitted, but the extremely rigid structure and pecking order of official Washington went against his democratic instincts, which was one of the paradoxes of the place.

Each administration that he'd served had started out with its own unique style, its own vision, energy, optimism, and idealism. But within a year, the entrenched bureaucracy reexerted its suffocating influence, and about a year after that, the new administration began getting pessimistic, isolated, and divided with internal conflicts and squabbles. The man in the Oval Office aged quickly, and the Ship of State chugged on, unsinkable and unsteerable, with no known destination.

Keith Landry had jumped ship, or more precisely been thrown overboard and washed ashore in Spencerville. A lady on the beach had been very good to him, but now his shipmates beckoned him to return. The lady could go with him if he wished, but he was reluctant to show her the real nature of this gleaming white ship, or introduce her to his crewmates for fear she'd wonder what type of man he really was. The ship would not wait much longer, and the native chief of the island, the lady's husband, just ordered him off the island. He said to Charlie, "Sometimes you get into one of those situations where, even if you wanted to take the easy way out, there isn't one."

"Right. But you, Keith, have always had a unique knack for finding just that situation."

Keith smiled and replied, "You mean I do these things on purpose?"

"The evidence seems to point that way. And you usually do it all by yourself. Even when other people put you in tough situations, you find ways to make it tougher. And when people offer to help you out of a bad situation, you turn them down."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"Maybe it's my background of self-reliant farming."

"Maybe. Maybe you're just a contrary, stubborn, and ornery prick."

"There's that possibility. Can I call you on the phone now and then when I need more analysis?"

"You never call anyone. I'll call you."

"Was I difficult to work with?"

"Don't get me started." He added, "But I'd take you back in a second."

"Why?"

"You never let anyone down. Not ever. I guess that's the situation you find yourself in now. But your loyalties have changed."

"Yeah... somewhere on the road between Washington and Spencerville, I had a conversion."

"Try to take shorter drives. Speaking of which, here we are."

They entered the Ritz-Carlton Hotel and walked into the Jockey Club, where the waiter welcomed Mr. Adair by name. As he showed them to a table for two near the far wall, everyone else checked them out.

This was one of the power restaurants in Washington, Keith knew, and had been for over thirty years since it opened and Jackie Kennedy was one of the first customers.

It was a masculine, clublike place, but the women seemed to like the food and the attention, he recalled. Washington, in fact, was a masculine town despite being the foremost equal opportunity employer, the spiritual home of politically correct and nonsexist language and laws. Some women here had power, to be sure, but it was a town whose fundamental attitudes toward females had lagged far behind the public utterances. For one thing, Keith knew, young, good-looking women outnumbered their male counterparts by some unhealthy ratio. For another thing, power was an aphrodisiac, and the men had it. The women who came to Washington from the hinterlands to work as government secretaries and aides were often the type who were content to bask in reflected power. In other words, the women in official Washington were furniture and happy to be polished and sat on once in a while. Everyone denied this, of course, and in Washington that meant it was true.