Nelson DeMille - Spencerville

"I know that."

"Does she excite you?"

"Yes."

"Then go for it."

Keith looked at Charlie a moment, then asked, "And the job?"

"Forget it. You have dragons painted on your shield. Don't kill rats in the cellar. That's what they'll remember you for."

"Thanks, Charlie."

They had another drink. Keith asked, "How long does it take an important person like yourself to secure a passport for another party?"

Charlie stirred his fourth or fifth vodka, and replied, "Oh, maybe a few hours if everything's in order. I'll call a friend at the State Department and get it banged through. This is for your lady friend?"

"Yes."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't know. Probably Europe."

"If you're going anyplace strange that needs a visa, let me know. I can get those processed within a day."

"Thanks."

They ordered coffee, brandy, and dessert. It was almost three P.M., but half the tables were still full. It was amazing, Keith thought, how much of the nation's business was done at lunch, cocktails, and dinner. He hoped everyone's head was a lot more clear than his and Charlie's.

Charlie swirled his brandy and said, "I would have resigned for the same reasons, but I have a wife, kids in college, a mortgage, and an expensive restaurant habit. Eventually, though, we'll all be gone, the guys with the hard-gained knowledge of the world will be gone, and the domestic weebs and wonks can move into the NSC offices and run a prenatal-care program for drug-dependent immigrants from Eastern Europe."

"That's better than empty office space."

"Right." Charlie drank his brandy and ordered another.

They finished their meal and Keith said, "I'll take a taxi back to the Hay-Adams."

"No, take the car, and tell the driver to meet me back here at five. I feel like drinking. Can you take a taxi to the airport?"

"Sure." Keith stood. "I'll see you and Katherine tomorrow. I enjoy her company. Yours too, sometimes."

Charlie stood unsteadily and said, "Looking forward to meeting Annie." He added, "The Four Seasons is still on us. Go through the motions, don't feel obligated, and by midweek write Mr. Yadzinski a nice letter of refusal, and you're off to Europe."

"That's the plan."

They shook hands, and Keith left. It was raining harder now, and the doorman went out with his umbrella and found the car and driver around the corner. The driver opened the door and said to Keith, loud enough for the doorman to hear, "Back to the White House, sir?"

"No, the president is meeting me at the Hay-Adams."

"Yes, sir."

Keith got in, and the car pulled away. This town was nuts, he thought. "Nuts."

"Sir?"

"Mr. Adair would like you to go back for him at five."

"Yes, sir."

Keith sat back and watched the windshield wipers. Charlie, of course, was trying some reverse psychology on him. The thing was that Charlie was so convincing with the dragon and rat analogy that Keith was firmly convinced he was making the right decision for the right reasons. "Right."

This town had seduced him like the world's greatest whore, and every time he saw her, touched her, smelled her, he got tingly. She had made him take off his uniform and screwed him until he had nothing left, and he enjoyed every minute of it. She screwed other men, too, and this excited him even more. He knew she was corrupt to the core, heartless, and cold. But she was beautiful, so well dressed and made-up and clever, and she smiled at him, and he loved her in the flesh but hated her in his soul.

At six P.M., Keith checked out of the Hay-Adams and carried his own bag to the front door.

"Taxi, sir?"

"Please."

Keith waited with the doorman under the marquee. The doorman said, "Taxis are scarce with this rain."

"I see that."

"Airport?"

"Right."

"Flights are delayed. Jack's coming through Virginia Beach."

"Excuse me?"

"Hurricane Jack. Tracking up the coast. It'll miss us, but we'll have gale-force winds and heavy rain all night. Did you check your flight, sir?"

"No."

"National or Dulles?"

"National."

The doorman shook his head. "Long delays. You might want to try Dulles, if you can."

A taxi pulled up, and the doorman opened the door. Keith got in and said to the driver, "How's National?"

"Down."

"Dulles?"

"Still open."

"Dulles."

The ride to Dulles, normally forty-five minutes via the Dulles access highway, took over an hour, and the weather didn't look much better inland. As they approached the airport, Keith saw no aircraft landing or taking off.

The driver said, "Don't look good, Chief. You want to go back?"

"No."

The driver shrugged and continued on into the airport.

Keith said, "USAir."

They arrived at USAir departures, and Keith noticed lines of people waiting for taxis. He went into the terminal and scanned the display monitors. Nearly every departing flight was delayed or canceled.

He tried the ticket agents at several airlines, looking for a flight to any city within a few hundred miles of Spencerville, but no one was hopeful.

At seven-thirty, Dulles Airport was officially closed until further notice.

Keith saw that the crowds were thinning out as people left the terminal. Other people were settling in for a wait.

He went to a bar in the terminal concourse. It was crowded with stranded travelers, but he got a beer and stood with a few other men and watched the TV mounted over the bar. Jack had made landfall at Ocean City, Maryland, and was stalled there, and the effects of the hurricane could be felt over a hundred miles from the eye. The general consensus seemed to be that nothing would be flying until dawn. But you never knew.

This was not the first time in his life he'd been unable to catch a flight, and he knew it was no use worrying or getting angry about it. In other times and places, the situation had sometimes been critical, sometimes life-threatening. This time, it was important.

It was now eight-fifteen P.M., and he had a rendezvous at ten A.M. the next day in western Ohio. He considered his options. It was about three hundred air miles, less than a two-hour flight to Columbus, slightly longer to Toledo, longer yet to Dayton or Fort Wayne, Indiana. In any case, if he could get on a flight anytime around five A.M., he'd be in Spencerville in a rental car about ten A.M., but, with a stop at his farm, he wouldn't be at his rendezvous until a few hours later. Still, he could call Annie's sister Terry's house from a public phone, at some point, and say he'd be delayed.

But there was the likely possibility that air traffic would be stacked up in the morning and it might be much later before he could actually fly out of Dulles. Also, he wasn't ticketed out of Dulles.

He left the bar and went to the car rental counters, where there were long lines of people. He stood on the Avis line and eventually got to the counter. The young man behind the counter asked him, "Reservation, sir?"

"No, but I need a car. Anything will do."

"Sorry, we have absolutely nothing here and nothing coming in tonight."

Keith had already figured that out. He asked, "How about your car? I'm going to Ohio. It's a ten-hour drive. I'll give you a thousand dollars, and you can sleep in the backseat."

The young man smiled. "Tempting, but..."

"Think it over. Ask around. I'll be at the pub in the concourse."

"I'll ask around."

Keith went back to the bar and had another beer. The place was half-empty now as people gave up on the possibility of the airport reopening and as the airlines bused ticket holders to nearby motels.

At ten P.M., the young man from Avis walked in and spotted him. He said, "I asked around, but there aren't any takers." He added, "I called our other locations around the area, but there's nothing available. Probably the same all over. You might try Amtrak."