“Yes sir. And he will. He owes us a favor.”
“Should I ask what?”
“No.” Fred grinned at him.
“Okay, Fred. I’ll trust you—this time. By the way, you were planning to stay in the District over Christmas, weren’t you? You’re not changing any plans on my account?”
“No, no. My parents are driving in from Philly on Sunday and we’re going to observe Hanukkah right here. Holding down the fort is no problem, and in fact, I was going to show them the office and even sit in your chair.”
Kell laughed at that. “Be my guest. Just don’t swing on the chandeliers.”
“You don’t have any, Senator.”
“Okay. Make a note to buy some chandeliers.” Kell leaned back, chortling, while Sneadman shook his head.
“You’re in an extraordinarily good mood tonight for someone about to risk his life on the open rails.”
“It’s good to get away. It’s good to see us go into recess after that marathon budget battle and the filibuster. Am I not entitled to one good mood a year?”
“According to the ethics committee, no, not if you enjoy it.”
“Oh. Well then. Officially I’m in a somber and serious mood, but Merry Christmas anyway.”
“Happy Hanukkah to you too.”
“Hanukkah. Yeah, you said that. I knew that.” Kell looked at his watch again. “About time, I think. I hate running for planes and trains. By the way, has Cynthia left for Missouri?”
“I think so. She bustled out of the office around four.”
“There was an item I needed to go over with her, but it can wait.”
Kell got out of the car with his briefcase and wrestled his portable computer and bag from the backseat, placing them on a folding baggage cart and strapping them down as Fred watched. “You sure you don’t want me to help you, sir?”
“No,” Kell said, smiling. “No, you’re already into the above-and-beyond-the-call-of-duty roster here. I let you do any more, I’ll have to start treating you better.”
“You mean, like paying me too?”
“Now cut that out, Sneadman.” He laughed. “Seriously, Fred, thank you very much. Please relax and have a good holiday.”
“I will, sir. You, too. Please don’t break anything skiing.”
“All I patronize are the bunny slopes, Fred. I’m in more danger around the cabin. By the way, did I give you the phone number?”
“Yes sir, you did.”
He waved his aide good-bye and pulled the baggage cart into the beautiful interior of the proud old terminal, marveling at how effective the facelift and remodeling job had been. The bright floodlights illuminating the stark white facade of the classic, columned front, gave it a grandeur which rivaled any of the great public buildings of the world’s capitals. It was a government project he had been proud to support.
Kell looked at the departure screens as he entered the terminal, searching for Amtrak’s Night Owl, Train #66, and finding the track number at last. He entered the gate area at 10:05 P.M., enjoying the walk between the railcars and the sound of powerful diesel engines in the distance as he searched for car number 6705, an old but refurbished Pullman. Kell folded the baggage cart and slung the computer’s strap over his shoulder, picking up bag and briefcase and trundling aboard, moving laboriously down the narrow companionway to compartment 8, a full-size bedroom he had reserved. He opened the compartment door and struggled inside with the luggage, banging a knuckle in the process, finally closing the door behind him.
“Just get into port, sailor?” A honeyed female voice enveloped him from the top bunk, and he held out his arms as Cindy came to him, giggling. “Mission accomplished? Or were you followed?”
“The only thing missing from this scene,” he said, “is having the train pull out of King’s Cross Station in London.”
“Fred doesn’t suspect a thing?”
“Probably thinks I’ve been drinking. I wished him Merry Christmas.”
“Kell!”
“Well …” He kissed her deeply. “I was being ecumenical.”
They held each other for awhile, Cindy talking over his shoulder. “I never thought I’d ever drag you away from here for an entire week.”
“I never thought you’d give up Christmas with your folks.”
She pulled back, an impish look on her face. “You have your cellular phone in the briefcase?”
“Yes.”
“The battery, please.” Cindy had her hand out.
“Don’t worry, it won’t ring.”
“The battery, or you go alone.” Kell saw her smiling but serious. “Okay, honey.” He kissed her once more and then pulled his briefcase onto the bed, retrieving the phone and sliding the battery out, which he handed to her with mock ceremony.
“Thank you.” She stuffed it in her bag, zipped it up and sat down in a small chair. “Now. The itinerary.”
“Okay.”
“First, the tickets are to be placed outside the door. The porter has already made an extra fifteen dollars for agreeing not to disturb the very fatigued gentleman in room 8. Second, we get into Boston South Station at 8:35 A.M. I get off there, proceed to the taxi stand, take a cab to the rental car place, pick up said car, drive straight to the main station, where I find you looking confused on the curb. I pick up said confused lawmaker and proceed across state lines to Stowe, Vermont, where our prerented, prepaid, prewarmed cabin awaits.”
“I thought transportation of pols across state lines for immoral purposes was illegal?”
“But fun.”
“What about dinner? How are we going to handle the dining car without being seen together?” he asked.
“We’re not,” she said, pointing to a large tote bag. “Dinner is already here, sir. But first, a little music.” Cindy reached down and produced a small tape recorder, which she snapped on, the sweet sounds of a string quartet playing Bach’s Double Concerto in D filling the room. “Next, le tablecloth.” Out came a checkered red-and-white plastic tarp, which she draped over the small table by the window. “And, the menu includes hamburgers à la golden arches, pomme frittes from the same source, a naïve little white wine with great pretension and a screw-top cap, and enough cheese to feed an army of rats—but why discuss the House of Representatives tonight.” They were both laughing as Kell tried to pull her out of the chair with carnal intent.
“No, no, no. Not yet!” she said in mock alarm, her index finger in his face.
“Why not?”
“Your suit. Your suit is wrinkled.”
“So?”
“We should hang it up. Out of your suit, please.”
“Okay …” He began taking off his suit coat. “But what should I get into?”
Cindy smiled as she undid the top button of her blouse and slowly rose from the chair, moving to him and touching the tip of his nose very lightly with her finger. “Did the honorable gentleman from Kansas ask what he should get into?”
Kell looked amused but puzzled. “Yes.”
“Me.” Cindy began undoing his tie. “Dinner can wait. I can’t.”
An hour north of New York City in the dead of the night, Kell awoke alone and startled for a second, rolling over to see Cindy standing at the window in the darkness, watching the lights go by, the evocative sound of railroad crossing bells approaching, dropping in pitch as the train shot past, the volume dying rapidly in the distance behind them, the sound of heavy steel wheels clickity-clacking occasionally over unwelded rail sections beneath the car. What a beauty she was, he thought, the changing lights and flickering shadows playing off her breasts, the lightness of her tawny hair cascading over tan shoulders, the deeply provocative shape of her stomach and buttocks the essence of femininity. How lucky to be with her, to have her love and her trust.
Cindy’s plan worked, as usual. In wartime, he had told her, the Army would need her as a logistics expert. They were in the cabin surrounded by snow by 2 P.M., and on the slopes by 3, having a ball, Cindy leadin
g him on merry chases through the snow on rented skis. In the interest of anonymity, Kell kept a pair of dark glasses in place into the evening as they mingled with the après-ski crowd in the restaurant, but no one seemed to notice who he was, or even care. They watched a movie at the lodge, a well-acted love story with Matthew Broderick and Jodie Foster set on a space station in near-Earth orbit, and ended the evening in front of a roaring fire back in the cabin, wearing little but contented expressions, debating the finer points of what lovemaking would be like in a weightless environment.
The phone woke them at 9:30 A.M. on the twenty-third, the sun shining through the front windows, the day full of promise. Kell was surprised to hear Fred’s voice, and more surprised when Fred explained he was patching through a call from the White House assistant chief of staff.
“What is it?” Cindy rubbed her eyes and snuggled up to his back as Kell propped himself on his left elbow and tried to sound professional.
“Shhhh!” He said it softly over his shoulder, holding the mouthpiece, waiting for a voice on the other end.
“Senator Martinson? You there?”
“Yes. How are you?”
“Fine Senator. I’m sure sorry to bother you, but the President asked me to chase you down. King Hussein is flying in on short notice to discuss his initiative for Beirut. Since we know you two are friends and fellow pilots, the President was hoping you could come help us out.”
“Entertain him, you mean?”
“Not entirely. There are some substantive things we’d like you to help us present. Anyway, could you make it?”
“Yes,” Kell said without hesitation. “Just tomorrow?”
“That’s right, Senator. You could get back on a plane by two.”
“What time do you want me there?”
Kell felt Cindy’s warmth diminish as she moved away slightly, her hand leaving his chest, her arm retracting.
“Call me through the White House switchboard when you get in this afternoon,” the voice said, “and I’ll have the final itinerary. The king’s coming into Andrews, and we’ll shepherd you out there for the arrival.”
“Fine. See you then.” Kell hung up the phone and rolled over, his eyes spotting the obvious disappointment on Cindy’s face.
“Presidential request, honey. I’m sorry. Hussein is coming to town, and it’s a privilege to be asked. I should not refuse.”
“You didn’t, in any event,” she said, smiling rather weakly.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night, and then nothing will get in the way till we come back on the second.”
She said nothing for a few seconds, kissing him lightly then and slipping out of bed and into the satin robe he had given her. Her words were spoken to the far wall, her voice very quiet. “I’ll make us some coffee. We’ll need to get you moving.” Kell watched her glide into the kitchen in the chill of the morning air, worried that she was truly upset by something politically unavoidable. But she would understand. She always did. After all, she was a pro at this business.
She kissed him good-bye at noon before opening the door, a hurry-and-get-yourself-back-to-me send-off which kept him smiling all the way down to the interstate and over to Burlington. While Kell stepped on a Boeing 737 bound for Washington National, Cindy tried to lose herself in a book back at the cabin, deciding then to pull out the box of tinsel she had brought and decorate a tiny Christmas tree. At least they would have Christmas Eve, she thought. He was a senator. She wanted him to be successful and powerful and summoned occasionally by the President of the United States for state functions. So if she wanted all that, she asked herself, why was she crying?
The snowstorm began in Washington at 2 P.M. on the twenty-fourth, as King Hussein and Kell were leaving the White House for Andrews. They had become acquainted several years back at a state dinner when the king discovered that the senator was a fellow pilot. They had spent most of that evening telling each other pilot “war stories” while the diplomats fumed in the distance, and a friendship developed. Whenever Hussein came to town, Kell was called, usually by the king himself from Amman, Jordan. This trip had been too sudden for the normal call, and Kell had been unavailable—until the White House got involved.
The flurries had increased to a steady snowfall by the time the motorcade arrived at the Air Force base, and the king, a qualified Boeing pilot with a personal Lockheed Tristar 1011 and a type rating to command it, directed that his airplane be deiced. That complete, he and his American-born wife, Queen Nor, the daughter of a former FAA administrator, waved goodbye and lifted off the tarmac at 3:15 P.M. A White House limousine took Kell directly to Washington National, fighting its way through heavier and heavier snowfall, arriving at 4:20 for a 4:30 flight. Kell had called ahead from the car and was told not to worry, the flight would be delayed at least thirty minutes. By the time he reached the gate, it had been canceled. At 6 P.M., unable to keep up with the accumulation, the airport manager closed the airport, Dulles following close on its heels.
“Cindy?”
“Kell. Where are you?”
A pause, and too long at that. She knew by the slight echo he wasn’t close. “Honey, we’re snowed in here at National. Everything’s cancelled. I tried to get an Air Force bird, and I’m still working on that, but even Andrews is having trouble. I’ll take the first thing I can get northbound. Are you doing okay up there?”
“Yes. Just missing you terribly. How did things go with Hussein?”
“Very well.” Kell filled her in on the day, and when her interest seemed to flag, changed the subject back to the obvious. “I’m going to stay out here for awhile, just in case.”
“No. Go back to your apartment, Kell. Try in the morning.”
“Well, I may at that. I’m so sorry, Cindy. Let’s just pretend Christmas isn’t for another day and a half. It’ll be okay.”
He replaced the receiver with a hollow feeling, more for her than himself. She could have been with her mother and father in St. Joseph. They were getting on in years, and it was a sacrifice for her to be with him. But when duty calls …
When it was obvious nothing with wings was going to fly northbound until Christmas Day at the earliest, Kell checked into a hotel in Crystal City adjacent to the airport. Somehow it didn’t seem right to go home. He phoned to give Cindy the number, then dove into a fitful, lonely sleep. It certainly didn’t seem like Christmas. In the morning he phoned her as soon as he had rebooked his flight and the airport began the process of reopening. “I’ll be there, if all goes well, by seven tonight.”
“No, Kell. I’ve had some time to think. I want you to stay there. I’m coming back.”
“What? Cindy, no! We’ve still got a week together. We …”
“Don’t leave, Kell. You’ll just pass me in the air. I’ll call you back with my inbound flight time. I’ve already arranged transportation.”
“Cindy …” But the line was dead. He tried again but she wouldn’t answer, and when he at last found someone at the lodge to physically go check the cabin, she had left.
The maroon-and-metallic 737 was the very same one that had brought him back two days before. He recognized the tail number as it nosed into the gate at National. Cindy was all business, of course, when she came up the jetway. It was home territory, and they could be easily recognized. But the need to be circumspect was tearing him up.
“Why? That’s all I want to know. Why?” he said, anguish in his voice.
She motioned him out to the concourse and in silence they walked toward the main part of the old terminal before she turned to him suddenly. “My flight to Kansas City is on TWA, Kell, in thirty minutes. Let’s go down to their club room.” She turned, leaving him stunned and rushing to catch up. “You’re going home?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Has something happened with your parents?”
“No.”
“No? Then, why Cindy? Answer me!” He tried to stop her, to whirl her around, but she pulled away and kept walking resolutely to t
he southern section of the terminal and through the doors of the club room to a private upstairs alcove where she sat down facing him, waving him to an opposite chair.
“Kell, I tried to rationalize it. It was a political plus for you to be called back here. You needed to come. That was good.”
“Then why …?”
She looked at him sadly, tears betraying her attempt at control. “There I was, holding on to you, so close I could almost hear your thoughts. And you didn’t even ask.”
“Ask what?”
“You didn’t even ask whether you should go. You just accepted.”
“Cindy!”
“No, Kell. Remember when I said I needed to be sure who came first when the chips were down? If you can’t even ask me, then Lady Politics owns your soul.”
“I had to go.”
“All you had to do was touch my face and ask if I minded. That’s all. Nothing more.”
He sat back, defeated, and looked at her, feeling her slip away. “I’m sorry, Cindy. I didn’t think.”
“I know.”
“You’re going back to St. Jo for awhile?” The look in return chilled him. “How long?”
She was too slow to answer, and his stomach was already churning when she finally spoke.
“I don’t know, Kell. You’ll have to put me on leave, or fire me. I don’t know when or even if I’m coming back. Fred can pick up for me. I’ll communicate with him on where everything is.”
She saw the pain in his face, but knew it had to be part of the process. “I need you, Cindy.”
“And I truly need you, Kell. That is exactly the problem.”
It hurt to see him hang his head in such gloom. “Kell, I’m not saying it’s over. But I’m less sure now than before. I know if I’m going to live with you, love you, be your wife, I have to take a backseat. That’s hard for me. I don’t know if I can accept it.”
“God, Cindy, this is like a replay of the breakup of my marriage, for Christ’s sake.”
Final Approach Page 42
