“I can stand that. I can stand anything.” Yasmin took a deep breath. “I can stand Nick Lopez.”
“That’s what I want to hear. I think we ought to call it a day now, before you have a chance to change your mind. I feel as though I’ve forgotten what a bed looks like. There’s nothing that won’t wait until tomorrow.”
“Oh, no.” Yasmin was reaching for her pocket again. “Auden or I were supposed to give this to you the second you got back, but we got sidetracked because of the meeting.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a message. From Tricia Goldsmith. She’ll be in Washington again, the day after tomorrow. She wants to know if you’re free for dinner.”
“Then I’d better call her, hadn’t I?”
“You’re not going to do it, are you? I mean, you’re not going to have dinner with her?”
“Yes, I am. If she wants to, I will certainly have dinner with her.” Saul waited just long enough, and added, “And so will you, if you are willing. You’ll come with me as my companion. I’m over her, Yasmin. I want you to see that for yourself.”
“She’ll flame out. So you did check what I told you about Crossley and Himmelfarb. And you told me you hadn’t.”
“I didn’t. And I don’t give a damn about Crossley, or Himmelfarb, or Crossley and Himmelfarb, or who did and didn’t say what and to whom when Tricia and I broke up before the election. That’s all history. I need to start running. The country, and for the next term. With what’s left in this term, I certainly can’t get more than a good start on what has to be done.”
“You should. Run again, I mean. Definitely.”
In spite of Saul’s declaration that they were leaving, they still stood in front of the window. He turned to her. “I’ll need a new campaign slogan.”
“You certainly will. The last one was lousy. You need something that reminds people that the President needs enormous powers if he’s to carry out the global job you’re tackling.”
“Do you have ideas? Practical ones?”
“I might.” Yasmin slipped her arm into Saul’s. “I’ll work on it. ’End White House impotence.’ What do you think of that?”
45
Helen cooked an outstanding dinner, venison and pork with broad beans and potatoes and spinach and applesauce. Joe brought over a special wine, “wine I paid money for.” It was like an evening on Catoctin Mountain before Supernova Alpha, made better for Art by Dana’s presence. But a couple of things spoiled it.
First, the window was in the wrong part of the room, so he couldn’t see his house. He kept glancing in that direction, as though the wall might have suddenly become transparent. Finally Dana leaned across, took his hand, and said, “I wanted to go with you, you know. But Helen hadn’t been told anything, and she saw your faces and the guns. I couldn’t leave her here. I had to stay and explain. When this is all over, I want you and me to go in your house and not come out for a week.”
The other worrying factor was Ed. He kept his rifle by his side all the time, even when they were eating dinner. Art didn’t ask, but he was willing to bet that the safety catch was not on.
The women were making a deliberate attempt to cheer everybody up. Helen said, “Why, now that you two are here I can give six-person dinner parties, something I’ve wanted to do for years. I’d have done it tonight if I’d known.”
“Anne-Marie’s up in Lantz with her cousin,” Joe said. “We’ll do it next week.”
The assumption was clear: Art had Dana with him, so there was no possible reason why he would ever want to go back “down there” as Helen put it, with a strong suggestion that Route I-270 led a traveler to the gates of hell. Or to Washington, which in her view was not much different.
“We won’t be here,” Art said. “Not next week.”
“Why ever not?”
“We have things to do. I promised to give a personal report.” He did not add “to the President,” but went on, “And I think those two idlers” — he pointed to Joe and Ed — “ought to go with us.”
“What the hell for?” Joe asked. “They’re all rogues down there.”
“And you’re not? You’re missing the point. Did you ever fly a C-5A?”
“Damn right. I could fly one with my eyes closed. A lovely plane, they don’t make anything like that these days.”
“Did you know that they’re in regular use again, because none of the new equipment works anymore? I think one of them has been converted to become Air Force One. With your background, you could probably get a job as a pilot tomorrow. And, Dana, tell them about the drivers in Washington.”
She inspected Joe and Ed carefully before she answered. “I’m not sure today’s drivers in D.C. would think you two were old enough to get a license. You look like teenagers compared with most of them.”
“And anybody who can drive without an AVC in the car is in demand,” Art added. “If you can drive a stick shift, or know how to install a carburetor in place of a chip-based fuel injection system—” He stopped. “No, Ed!”
Out of the corner of his eye he had noticed the gun barrel coming up, at the same time as he saw the dark face peering in at the window.
“Don’t shoot, it’s Seth.” He waved, to indicate that Seth should go around to the front door. “How the hell did he know where we were?”
He pulled the door open. “Where’s Guest?”
“He’s safe and sound,” Seth said, and then to Ed, “I’d rather you aimed that thing someplace other than my gut. I’m one of the good guys.”
The rifle was trained squarely on Seth’s navel. Ed lowered it to point at the floor. “Pardon me. You just don’t look like one of the good guys.”
Seth’s clothes and face were filthy, and mud coated his legs up past the knees. “That’s ’cause I’ve been far-tin’ an’ fandango-in’ around this place looking for you all. It don’t help none that it’s startin’ to rain out there. I didn’t see the light from this window ’til three minutes back. See, I could tell that Art had been in his house today, but he didn’t leave no word where he was goin’ when he left.”
“We didn’t want your friend Oliver dropping in.” Joe took one good look at Seth and poured not the wine he had paid money for, but a big shot of Ed’s moonshine. “Here.”
Seth took the glass, drained it in one gulp, and rolled his eyes. “Jeez. That don’t take prisoners, do it? Look, the main thing is, Guest came up with what we need.”
“The treatment?” Dana asked.
“You got it. We’ll be able to keep goin’ with the telomods. He worked up a wet chemistry method, and the test kits are in the car we came here in. He still hasn’t told me how to use any of this stuff, an’ I’m sure that’s gonna be his big bargainin’ chip. So the sooner we get back over to your house—”
“Hold it,” Ed interrupted in a strange, hoarse voice. He had been looking not at Seth in the doorway, but past him. “What’s that?”
He and Art crowded Seth backward. “That’s my house!” Art shouted. “It’s on fire.”
“An’ Guest’s inside — tied to the bed, he can’t get out.” Seth started as though he was going to run, then swung around. “You got a car or anythin’, ready to go? Otherwise, he’s a goner.”
“The tractor.” Ed turned as flames from the burning house roared to double their height. “In the barn — but it only carries one, and it’s not fast.”
“Forget it.” Seth was already on the move. “Come on.”
The fire was a beacon to draw them on, but it did nothing to light up the muddy road. Seth moved out ahead, with Dana not far behind. Art decided that if he was ever going to ruin his knee completely, this was the time. He ran full tilt along the dark path. Rain made the mud more than usually treacherous, but he had walked this way a hundred times. He had the advantage of knowing the twists and turns. By the time they reached the house he had passed Dana and was only a few yards behind Seth.