The recent legacy of Supernova Alpha offered one advantage. My home lay on the side of the canal farther from the river. We would not need to use a lock bridge, because traversing the empty canal bed was a simple matter.
Seth was heading back toward me. I looked for signs of weariness in his gait, and saw none. He was impressively (and depressingly) tough and resilient.
He pointed downstream. “Other way. I walked to lock eight. How far between locks?”
“Variable. But lock seven is less than a mile from here.” I felt, and tried to hide, my urgency. I was only a few minutes from home. What would that home be like, after five years and more of government management?
We walked side by side along the muddy remains of the towpath. I began to share Seth’s concern about the weather. It was warm and sunny, but I felt on my face a strange and gusty breeze. The air seemed heavier, dragging and retarding our footsteps. We crossed the canal at lock seven, made our way for a hundred yards along a major but empty parkway, and were at the edge of a residential territory.
Now I had a legitimate reason to hurry. We did not want to be seen. We kept an eye out for other people as we went up the hill, turned a corner, and were in my driveway.
I am, with certain exceptions, indifferent to possessions. But I cannot deny the excitement and pleasure that filled me when my house came into sight. Excitement, pleasure, and at the same time trepidation.
Long before I suffered discovery and arrest, I had taken steps to hide my treasures. I thought I had hidden them well.
The question was, had I hidden them well enough?
34
Auden Travis behaved as though requests to find space for strangers on government vehicles came every day.
“Cap what?” he said. He was bending over a thick folder, a compilation of computer listings, typewritten pages, and handwritten notes. “I can’t find it.”
“Catoctin Mountain Park.” Art looked over Auden’s shoulder. “It’s north of here. I can show you on a map.”
“That wouldn’t help. All the transportation information is in terms of highway numbers. I need to know those. Unless he promised you a helicopter?”
The power of the presidency — and the temptation to lay false claim to it. “No. We have to ride on whatever’s going. But the roads are easy once you get outside Washington. North on Interstate 270 as far as Frederick, then Route 15 north heading toward Harrisburg. We only need a ride as far as Thurmont. We can walk to Catoctin from there.”
“Harrisburg is good. State capital, sure to be something going that way. Here, this ought to do it.” Travis looked up at Art and grimaced. “Provided you don’t mind riding in the back of a cement truck.”
“It’s better than the way I came down. When?”
“Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock. That’s the best I can do.”
“What will we do today?”
“Anything you like. I wouldn’t recommend going too far because of the weather.”
“It’s marvelous outside.”
“It won’t be.” Travis opened another folder and showed it to Art. “See the map? Hurricane Gertrude hit Cape Hatteras last night. The seventh hurricane since February 9, and it’s not even the season. The forecasts say we’ll get the tail of it later today — pretty bad wind and rain. If I were you I wouldn’t go out at all.”
“What about food?” Art was already hungry.
“You can eat in the cafeteria in the Old Executive Office Building. Get there through the underground passage. The food’s not great, because it’s from the national reserves. Tonight I’ll find a place for you in the East Wing.”
“We’ll sleep in the White House?”
“That’s right. For free.” Travis smiled at Art. “I won’t tell you how much some people have paid for the privilege.” The multiline unit at his right hand began to buzz. “Anything else? Then check with me later for the room.”
They were clearly dismissed. They wandered off into the White House interior, staring at everything. No one stopped them, no one took much notice. The only person who said anything was a short man in a check suit, who gasped, “Excuse me, I’m late” as he dashed past them.
“Oh, my fur and whiskers,” Dana said. And when Art stared at her, “Don’t mind me, I’m in a giddy mood. It looks like security checks apply only for entry and exit. The question is, if we go outside will we be able to get back in?”
They were on the second floor, and their wandering had brought them to a big window with dusty sunlight streaming through. Art walked to it and ran a finger down one of the panes. It left a streak.
“My dear, it’s so hard to get good help these days.
Even if you’re President.” Art was feeling giddy, too, if that was the word for it. He had slept wonderfully last night, he didn’t have an ache or a pain anywhere in his body, and he would be in a real bed again tonight. He gestured outside. “Look at that. Auden Travis was right, and I was wrong.”
They were facing south. On the right Art could see the east end of the Reflecting Pool, dazzling in the sun as its shallow waters broke into whitecaps. Straight ahead was the Monument, its solid bulk able to withstand the strongest wind. Far beyond, a dark line of clouds crept westward along the horizon. And much closer, within the White House grounds, trees bent and swirled and shivered.
It was pleasant to watch, and to know that you were snug inside; until Dana said softly, “I wonder where Seth is? I wonder where he and Dr. Grisly will spend tonight.”
Art hoped for Seth’s sake that it would be somewhere comfortable — and nowhere near Catoctin Mountain Park. His friends there were tough, and they were wily; but Ed O’Donnell and Joe Vanetti would be no match for Seth Parsigian and Oliver Guest.
He and Dana turned from the window view, with its first signs of approaching Hurricane Gertrude. The mood had changed. Dana’s question had depressed both of them, and without speaking they headed down to the lower level. Art asked a guard how to reach the tunnel to the Old Executive Office Building. It must have been a standard question because the woman rattled off directions without thinking.
Though it was long past a normal lunchtime, the cafeteria was crowded. They walked by the long service counter, examining the choice of food.
“Auden Travis must be a lot pickier than I am,” Dana said. “This all looks good except the pastry. But the ambience. I guess they don’t want people staying too long when they have work to do.”
The place was like a dungeon, plain gray walls and ceiling, dull black floor and tables, gunmetal chairs.
They loaded their trays, paid — a surprise to Art; he had somehow imagined that a White House cafeteria would be free — and searched for an empty table.
There was none to be found. They were forced to sit with another couple: Scott and Jenna Fredden, according to the name tags on their government badges. The pair ate steadily and spoke not one word to Art and Dana or to each other. Art and Dana followed their example, until finally the two stood up — in unison — and left.
“Charming,” Dana said when they had gone. “What do you think? Man and wife, or brother and sister?” She was not expecting an answer because she continued, “I’ll tell you something odd. I’ve known you for three years. But until this morning, I never knew you had that scar on your belly.”