with dinner.
“It blows hot and cold at work. At the moment, it's blowing rather hot.”
“Truman, then? 'If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen'?”
“Yes, sir, something like that, but it'll cool off. Just that we have some things happening now. It's like that. When you were driving your ship, it was like that, too, wasn't it?”
That was much healthier work. I also had a far shorter distance to commute. About fifteen feet, as a matter of fact,' he added with a chuckle.
Ryan laughed rather tiredly. “Must be nice. For me it's that far to see my secretary.”
“And the family?”
There was no sense in lying. “Could be better. My work doesn't help.”
“Something is troubling you, Jack. It's quite obvious, you know.”
“Too much stress. I've been hitting the booze too hard, not enough exercise. The usual. it'll get better, just I've had a longer than usual stretch of bad times at the office. I appreciate your concern, sir, but I'll be all right.” Jack almost convinced himself that it was true. Almost.
“As you say.”
“And I must say that's the best dinner I've had in a very long time. So, when's the next time you're coming over to our side of the pond?” Ryan asked, grateful for the chance to change subjects.
“Late spring. A breeder in Wyoming will have some horses for me. Polo ponies, actually.”
“You gotta be crazy to play that game. Lacrosse on horses.”
“Well, it gives me a chance to enjoy the countryside. Magnificent place, Wyoming. I plan to tour Yellowstone also.”
“Never been there,” Jack said.
“Perhaps you could come with us, then? I might even teach you how to ride.”
“Maybe,” Jack allowed, wondering how he'd look on a horse, and wondering how the hell he'd be able to get away from the office for a week. “Just so you don't wave one of those hammers at me.”
“Mallet, Jack, mallet. I shan't try to involve you in polo. You'd probably end up killing some unfortunate horse. I presume you'll be able to find the time.”
“I can sure try. If I'm lucky, the world will settle down a little by then.”
“It's settled down quite a bit, thanks in large part to your work.”
“Sir, Basil may have placed a little too much emphasis on what I did. I was just one cog in the machine.”
“Modesty can be overdone. I find it disappointing that you failed to receive any recognition,” the Prince observed.
“That's life, isn't it?” Jack was surprised at how it came out. For once, he'd been unable to hide his feelings completely.
“I thought as much. Yes, Jack, that's life, and life is not always fair. Have you thought perhaps about changing your line of work — take leave, perhaps?”
Jack grinned. “Come on, I don't look all that bad. They need me at the office.”
His Royal Highness became very serious. “Jack, are we friends?”
Ryan sat upright in his chair. “I don't have all that many, but you're one of them.”
“Do you trust my judgment?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Get out. Leave. You can always come back to it. A person of your talents never really leaves. You know that. I don't like the way you look. You've been at it too long. Have you any idea how lucky you are that you can leave? You have a degree of freedom I do not. Use it.”
“Nice try, man. If you were in my position, you wouldn't leave. Same reason, even. I'm not a quitter. Neither are you. It's that simple.”
“Pride can be a destructive force,” the Prince pointed out.
Jack leaned forward. “It's not pride. It's fact. They do need me. I wish they didn't, but they do. Problem is, they don't know it.”
“Is the new director that bad?”
“Marcus is not a bad person, but he's lazy. He likes his position better than he likes his duties. I don't suppose that's a problem limited to the American government, is it? I know better. So do you. Duty comes first. Maybe you're stuck with your job because you were born into it, but I'm just as stuck with mine because I'm the guy best able to do it.”
“Do they listen to you?” His Highness asked sharply.
Jack shrugged. “Not always. Hell, sometimes I'm wrong, but there has to be somebody there who does the right thing, at least tries to. That's me, sir. That's why I can't bug out. You know that just as well as I do.”
“Even if it harms you?”
“Correct.”
“Your sense of duty is admirable, Sir John.”
“I had a couple of good teachers. You didn't run and hide when you knew you were a target. You could have done that—”
“No, I could not have done so. If I had —”
“The bad guys would have won,” Jack finished the thought. “My problem isn't very different, is it? I learned part of this from you. Surprised?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” he admitted.
“You don't run away from things. Neither do I.”
“Your verbal maneuvering is as skillful as ever.”
“See? I haven't lost it yet.” Jack was rather pleased with himself.
“I will insist that you bring the family out to Wyoming with us.”
“You can always go over my head — talk to Cathy.” His Highness laughed. “Perhaps I will. Flying back tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir. I'm going to hit Hamley's for some toys.”
“Get yourself some sleep, Jack. We'll have this argument again next year.”
It was five hours earlier in Washington. Liz Elliot stared across her desk at Bob Holtzman, who covered the White House. Like the permanent staffers here, Holtzman had seen them come and go, outlasting them all. His greater experience in the building was something of a paradox. Though necessarily cut out of the really good stuff — Holtzman knew that there were some secrets he'd never see until years too late to make a story of them; that was the work of historians — his skill at reading nuances and catching whiffs would have earned him a senior place at any intelligence agency. But his paper paid much better than any government agency, especially since he'd also penned a few best-selling books on life at the highest levels of government.
“This is deep background?”
“That's right,” the National Security Advisor said.
Holtzman nodded and made his notes. That set the rules. No direct quotes. Elizabeth Elliot could be referred to as an “administration official,” or in the plural as “sources within.” He looked up from his notebook — tape recorders were also out for this sort of interview — and waited. Liz Elliot liked her drama. She was a bright woman, somewhat elitist — not an uncommon trait in White House officialdom — and definitely the person closest to the President, if he was reading the signals right. But that was none of the public'sbusiness. The probable love affair between the President and his National Security Advisor was no longer a complete secret. The White House staffers were as discreet as ever — more, in fact. He found it odd that they should be so. Fowler was not the most lovable of men. Perhaps they felt sympathy for what had to be a lonely man. The circumstances of his wife's death were well-known, and had probably added a percentage point of sympathy votes in the last election. Maybe the staffers thought he'd change with a steady romance in his life. Maybe they were just being good professionals. (That distinguished them from political appointees, Holtzman thought. Nothing was sacred to them.) Maybe Fowler and Elliot were just being very careful. In any case, the White House press had discussed it off and on at The Confidential Source, the bar at the National Press Club building, just two blocks away, and it had been decided that Fowler's love life was not properly a matter of public interest, so long as it did not injure his job performance. After all, his foreign-policy performance was pretty good. Euphoria from the Vatican Treaty and its stunningly favorable
