"Welcome to Indian Head, Mr. President." The salute was slow and a little arthritic. "I am Captain Kennecott, OIC."
"At ease, Captain." Saul decided to put Kennecott out of his misery—and move the old man inside before they had a case of hypothermia on their hands. He put Kennecott's age in the early eighties. The commodore must be a reemployed annuitant, protected in his position by the Gray Rights laws. But no laws protected the old from pneumonia. "I would like you to provide me a full inspection of the base tomorrow morning, Captain. For tonight, though, I must meet privately with Ms. Silvers, and I plan no other functions. Everyone can be dismissed—and let's all get inside before we freeze."
"Yes, sir." Kennecott led Saul up a steep flagstone path cleared of snow, and went into the back of an old building of red brick. As they entered the ambient temperature rose fifty degrees. "So far as sleeping accommodations are concerned, and meals . . ." Kennecott turned to stare uncertainly at the six security staff who dogged Saul's footsteps.
"Whatever the kitchen happens to have available. I will need a room for private discussion with Ms. Silvers while I eat, but what I eat is of no importance. As for sleeping, do you still have visitors' quarters on base?"
"Yes, sir." Captain Kennecott blinked watery blue eyes at Saul. "Here in the Officers' Club. But, Mr. President, the rooms here in the Mix House are old and primitive and unused for many years. The BEQ's, Bachelor Enlisted Quarters, are even worse. They have never been updated for an integrated service. There was no budget for it."
"Do you have running water?"
"Yes, sir. The base has its own generators and storage tanks."
"Then we are better off than most people in this country." Saul looked around. He knew where Captain Kennecott was going: to an invitation to stay at his own house, which Saul did not want at all. "I'll stay here in the Officers' Club. Do you have a room right here where I can hold private meetings?"
"Yes, sir. And the kitchen is already open." Kennecott led them through the building and up one floor, to a blue-walled room holding a long oak table and twenty chairs. "If this would do?" He ran a gnarled hand lovingly along the smooth, still-polished surface. "This was our conference room, Mr. President, back in the days when this base still had a major mission as a naval propellant test center."
"This will do beautifully. Thank you, Captain." Old sailors didn't die. They went down with their bases.
"Thank you, sir. May I say what an honor it is to have you here? In one hundred and twenty-eight years since this facility was established, this is only the second visit from a sitting President."
As Captain Kennecott left, Yasmin Silvers nodded to Saul. "You really made his day."
"I hope so."
"Would you consider making mine?" Her voice changed. "By telling me what is going on?"
No "sir," no "Mr. President." Saul heard bottled-up bewilderment and unhappiness coming out at him. And he didn't know why.
"You mean, why did I decide to visit Indian Head?"
"I don't mean that at all. I mean, why did you arrange for me to go down to the Q-5 Syncope Facility, and not tell me that something peculiar was going on there? I gather all sorts of things happened downriver tonight. If I hadn't been stuck here because of the weather, I'd have landed in the middle of it."
"You think I set you up? That I knew what was going on there, but I sent you without telling you?"
"Didn't you? Yes, I do think that. I feel like an experimental animal."
"Christ, Yasmin. What kind of sadist do you take me for?" It was a reaction not to her anger, but to her lack of trust. That hurt. "You have a good brain. Use it, and think. Did I arrange for your brother to stick a knife into that twisted bastard rapist Lopez? Did I arrange for your brother to be iced down in Q-5, just so I could send you there? For your information, I didn't know that anything was happening downriver tonight. And I still have no idea what's going on there."
When Saul was angry he became cold and remote, not hot and loud. He had not raised his voice. That was just as well, because his final words came at the same time as the perfunctory knock on the door and the arrival of their food.
Did it really take nine people to serve bean soup followed by broiled fresh fish with potatoes and carrots? It did if you happened to be the President, and all the cooks on the base wanted to be able to tell their friends that they had served you dinner.
He and Yasmin waited in awkward silence as the plates and serving dishes were set out, along with glasses and a bottle of white wine that he had not asked for. She had an appalled and stricken stare on her face. She knew she had gone way over the mark for a presidential aide. And she had been wrong in her accusations. He knew it, too, but for the moment he could say nothing without making things worse.
The head of the group of waiters at last stepped back and cocked his head at Saul. "Mr. President?"
Saul nodded. "That's wonderful. Thank you."
You were polite to and praised strangers, but you told a staff member whom you really liked to use her brain and think.
"I'm sorry, Yasmin," he said as soon as the servers had left the room. "Really sorry for what I said. It's no excuse, but all the frustrations of the day came out at you." He waved to the food. "Help yourself. Eat."
"I can't." She swallowed. "Not yet. You—"
He waited, pouring and drinking wine that he did not want.
"You didn't know?" she said at last.
"I didn't know. I don't know now."
"Then why did you come here?"
Saul poured wine for both of them and served soup into Yasmin's bowl. He coaxed her to eat.
If the staff wanted to see something, they ought to have stayed for this. President turns headwaiter and wet nurse.
When she took a first spoonful he said, "I came here for two reasons, one professional and one very personal. You may find the first hard to understand, but I have more trouble with the second. To begin with, from February 9 until this evening I had not been out of the White House for more than a few minutes at a time."
"But that's because everyone comes to see you, to save your time. And you were receiving plenty of reports. I know, because Auden Travis and I brought them to you."
"You certainly did." Saul gave up on the wine, too sweet for his taste. Yasmin was drinking it much too fast. "Which reminds me. I'm not trying to change the subject, but what happened between the two of you just before you left?"
"Oh." Yasmin pushed out her bottom lip. "We had a bit of a fight."
"I could guess that. About?"
"Well, it began when he learned of your authorization for me to travel to the syncope facility. I wouldn't—couldn't—tell him why I was going. I said it was no business of his. So he started making guesses. I didn't respond, and he became upset because he thought you were sending me on some special secret mission. I told him that wasn't true. He didn't believe me. He accused me of having an unfair advantage dealing with you because I'm a woman. I told him it wasn't my choice, Nature did that."
"That's all you said to him?"
"Well, no. I kind of told him—"
"Kind of? I'd rather hear it exactly."
"Yes, but I wouldn't rather say it." When Saul remained silent, she went on, "All right. I told him that he'd fuck you himself if he had half a chance. I knew the cussing would annoy him as much as the thought—especially since it's true. He got madder than ever."
Saul shook his head in disbelief. "What did you expect? That after he heard that he would back down and apologize?"
"I wasn't thinking. Especially after he told me that I now occupied the most senior position I would ever have in my whole life, because I'd used up all the black-Hispanic-woman cards."
"And you of course, to avoid further argument, agreed."
"No, sir." Yasmin emptied half a glass of wine in one gulp and poured herself more. "I told him that I would go a damn sight farther than he ever would, and I didn't see why I couldn't be President someday." Her nostrils flar
ed, and emotion thickened the air between them like hot, strong syrup. "I'm going to be the first female President, I told him, the way Saul Steinmetz is the first Jewish President. And to get there I'm going to jiggle and wiggle my sexy black-Hispanic-woman's ass any way I have to, with anybody I feel like. A damn sight more men will chase me, I said, than will ever go after you, Auden Travis. You should have seen his face when I told him that. He'd have murdered me on the spot if he could." She looked up at Saul, who was sitting with head bowed. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm not suggesting that I really do—well, you know. I was just mad at him. But you did ask for it exactly."
"I did, didn't I?"
"What happens now, sir?"
"Now I'm thinking that alcohol is not a traditional Jewish vice, but maybe I ought to give the wine another try." Saul raised his head, and their eyes locked. "Actually, I'm thinking that in a couple of days, you and Auden Travis will have to work together again—or one of you will be leaving. Maybe both of you. Do you want that?"
"No, sir." Her voice was a whisper. "I don't. I really don't."
"I thought not."
"I love my job with you."
"So there will have to be apologies, won't there? On both sides."
"Yes, sir." Her face was pale. "There will be apologies."
"Very good." Saul stabbed savagely at a piece of fish with his fork. "I know this was hard on you, Yasmin; but it was necessary. There's nothing wrong with ambition, but I insist on civility between members of my personal staff. Otherwise working together is impossible. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right. End of that subject. Let's return to our previous topic." From the miserable expression on her race, he was not sure that she remembered what it had been. He prompted: "I've been confined to the White House. I receive a ton of reports every day. And everything that I hear or see has been filtered."
That got through. She sat upright in her chair. "Not by me, sir."
"By you, and by everybody else. This isn't just Saul Steinmetz complaining. The same thing happens to every President. People tell a chief executive what they think he wants to hear. Rosy economic reports, high popularity figures, promising international changes, you name it. There's a competition to be the first with good news. Anyone who tells bad news tends to get weeded out—even if all the real news is bad."
"I don't hide bad news from you, sir."
"You try not to. And I love you for it." Saul wondered about that choice of verb, but Yasmin perked up visibly. Anyway, it was too late to change what he had said, and he went on, "I need inputs that tell it straight. Before the gamma pulse, I thought I had a way through the shield of people around me. My office was wired for direct data feeds. I could switch from space cameras to farm country to undersea to almost every state and city in the world. When I lost that service I felt I'd been blinded. Until it comes back there's only one answer: I have to get outside the White House and see for myself. Inspecting places like this is important. And I need help—I can't be everywhere. I'll give you just one example. The Q-5 is listed as a 'small' facility for extended syncope, but over eleven thousand prisoners are there—including murderers, human monsters, and a number of the country's most dangerous convicted terrorists. I have seen not one word about the condition of Q-5 in any report. When you go there to find your brother, I want you to keep your eyes open and give me a briefing when you get back to Washington. Something is happening at Q-5, but I don't trust my military advisers to understand what. They see everything through their own filters."
"I'll do my best. It will be difficult with Raymond to worry about, but I'll try to be objective."
Saul nodded and became quiet. He remained that way for a long time, slowly eating. So long that at last Yasmin, restored by wine, time, and silence to some of her natural sassiness, felt curious enough to prompt him.
"Sir?"
Saul looked up at her. She smiled, a warm but tentative smile.
"You said you had another reason for coming here to see me, sir. A personal reason. If you would like to tell me about that, I'd very much like to listen."
16
You heard talk of electrical power returning to the whole city, but so far there was no sign of it. The candles, flickering low, turned the long basement room to a maze of shadows. Auden Travis didn't see where Nick Lopez came from, but suddenly the Senator was smiling at his side.
"No rush, Auden, but it's thinning out." Lopez gestured to the door, where half a dozen men were putting on their coats. "Jeremy and Raoul would never dream of saying anything—we could stay here 'til dawn if we wanted to. But it's close to two o'clock."
"It can't be that late." Auden looked at his wrist, where of course there was no working watch. "It feels about ten o'clock."
"Believe me, it's not." Lopez took Travis's elbow. "They have to get up in the morning for work—and so do you."
"I suppose so." Auden moved toward the door at Lopez's gentle urging, but before he arrived there he turned his head for a final look down the room.
"Enjoy it?" Lopez asked quietly.
"I had a wonderful time, Senator."
"Nick."
"Nick." Travis took a deep breath. "I know this will sound corny, but I haven't enjoyed an evening as much as this in my entire life. It makes me feel almost guilty, having such a great time when the city and the world is such a mess."
"It is a mess, but not because of anything we did. I'm glad you liked it. I hope you'll come again."
"I'd love to. If I get invited."
"Oh, come on, don't be silly. Couldn't you see you were the hit of the evening?"
"I thought it was my imagination. Everyone was so friendly to me."
"And why shouldn't they be? You are gorgeous. And you deserve a few hours of pleasure. You work much too hard, you know. I hope Saul appreciates you."
"Oh, he does." But Travis couldn't erase the memory of the President running off after that whore, Yasmin Silvers. He wanted to pour out the truth to Lopez, but he couldn't do that. "The President entrusts me with a great deal of information," he said at last. Except why he sent her to the syncope facility, then went running off after her. Though the last part isn't hard to guess.
"He trusts you because you can be trusted," Lopez said. "I trust you already, and I don't know you well."
They retrieved their coats in silence and went to thank Raoul and Jeremy in the kitchen, who both gave Auden a hug and said, "Be sure to come again."
"He will," Lopez said. "I'll talk him into it. And now let's see what the weather is doing out there."
They left the apartment and started up the steps from the basement to the ground level. At the top the Senator patted the pockets of his overcoat.
"Uh-oh. My hat. I put it on the entrance table when I came in. Wait here, I won't be a second. Maybe you can take a look and see if it stopped snowing."
When he returned Auden was standing at the top with the outside door cracked open an inch. He had his eyes closed, but he turned when he heard Lopez's footsteps.
"It's not nice at all out there, sir. Freezing cold and deep snow."
"For God's sake, Auden, are you trying to make me angry? I'm not sir, I'm Nick. I'm your friend, not your superior officer."
"I'm sorry. Nick. It's hard to get used to it. You've been Senator Lopez in my mind for so long."
"Like some crumbling relic?"
"I didn't mean that at all. Nick."
"I believe you. Just what is it doing outside?" Lopez opened the door wide, and a blast of air and flurry of snowflakes blew in. "Jeez. Not nice doesn't begin to describe it. It's hell out there. Dangerous, too, without our security escort."
"Do you have far to go?"
"Me?" Nick Lopez stared at Auden. "I don't have to go anywhere. I live here. I have a big apartment—on the second floor, fortunately, since we don't have elevators now. But it's you I'm thinking about."
"You don't have to worry. It's only a few blocks."
"It's a good half mil
e. A five-minute taxi ride to the White House—except that now there are no cabs anymore. Auden, you can't possibly walk in this weather, in the middle of the night."
"I'll be safe enough."
"Don't bet on it. It's a zoo out there. But even if you don't get mugged, you'll freeze to death. And it's so unnecessary. You can stay at my place."
"I need to be at my job in the morning."
"And so do I. But you told me yourself, the President has gone off someplace downriver. He won't be at the White House in the morning. There's not a reason in the world why you have to be there before, say, nine o'clock."
"I don't know."
"Well, I do." Lopez closed the door firmly. "I'd be pleased and honored if you accept my hospitality for the night. And I'll be mortified if you refuse."
Auden hesitated. He had heard Nick Lopez's explanation, that everyone in Washington had a bad reputation and that he was no exception. Auden knew this to be at least partially true—he had heard scurrilous stories about almost everybody, from the President to eighty-seven-year-old Lucas Munce.
But inside every story there was likely to be a kernel of truth. Auden had heard wildly conflicting reports about Senator Nick Lopez. He was the finest man in Washington. He was a slave to his own sexual urges. He was a loyal friend who offered his friendship for life. He took young men, made them crazy about him, and dropped them without a second thought.
Auden should not stay overnight in Nick's apartment. Not because there was the stigma of illegality to the relationship—the brave gay men who stormed the barricades fifty years ago had forced those changes. But legality was insufficient to remove all stigma. Not every part of America was urban and cosmopolitan. Plenty of small-minded and small-town religious bigots would express open outrage if they learned that an aide close to the President was not heterosexual. One published word, and both Auden and the President could suffer. That was why since joining the White House staff Auden had been celibate for so long.
But tonight it was more than so long. It was too long. Auden felt wonderful, relaxed and giddy and amorous all at the same time. Your loyalty does you credit, Nick had said. Meanwhile, you are left here, to work and work and work. What time do you stop?
Aftermath Page 19
