WASHINGTON, D.C.
1915 HOURS 31 AUGUST 1942
Fleming Pickering made a grunting noise and opened his eyes.
It could very well be a groan of pain, Senator Richmond Fowler thought.
"I seem to have dropped off," Pickering said, pushing himself up in the armchair. "How long was I out?"
"Passed out is more like it," Fowler said. "A couple of hours. How do you feel?"
"Will you stop hovering over me like Florence Nightingale? I'm fine."
"I probably shouldn't tell you this, but you look a hell of a lot better than when you walked in here."
"I feet fine," Pickering said. He sniffed under his armpit.
"I smell like a cadaver but I feel fine."
"I was wondering about that," Fowler said. "How do you manage bathing?"
"I take a shower with my arm raised as far as I can, and very carefully. Would you like to watch?"
"I'll pass, thank you just the same. I can live with the smell for a while. And besides, you might want something sent up to eat."
"Was the tailor here?"
"Yes. He did three shirts for you."
"Then I think I'd rather eat downstairs in the grill," Pickering said.
He pushed himself out of the chair and walked into the bedroom.
In a moment, Fowler heard the sound of running water. Not without difficulty, he resisted the temptation to go in and help.
Fleming Pickering was a big boy.
Five minutes later there was indication that not all was well.
"Oh, shit!" Pickering's voice came from the bedroom, filled with disgust.
Fowler went quickly in. Pickering, stark naked, dripping, stood in the door of the bath, examining water-soaked bandages scattered over his chest and upper stomach. Fowler saw streams of watery blood running down his body.
"I don't suppose you have any adhesive tape?" Pickering asked.
Fowler picked up the telephone.
"This is Senator Fowler. Find Dr. Selleres and send him up here immediately."
"That wasn't necessary," Pickering said.
"Trust me. I'm a U.S. Senator," Fowler said.
Pickering looked at him and chuckled. " `The check's in the mail,' right? `Your husband will never find out'?"
"Speaking of wives, I just spoke with yours."
"How'd she know I was here?"
"Where else would you be? Aside from St. Elizabeth's?" St. Elizabeth's was Washington's best-known mental hospital'
"And?" Pickering replied, not amused.
"And she says, when you get a chance, call."
"I will," Pickering said.
He put his hand to his chest and jerked off one of the bandages. Fowler saw that the wound beneath was still sutured.
"You were almost killed, weren't you?"
"That's like being pregnant, you either are or you aren't. No I wasn't. I don't think I was ever in any danger of dying."
"I saw the Silver Star citation. You passed out from loss of blood."
"I think that was shock from the arm," Pickering said matter-of-factly. "And I didn't pass out. I just got a little lightheaded. Where did you see my citation?"
"Knox sent me a copy. He thought I would be interested."
"Christ, Knox. I forgot all about him."
"You will see him tomorrow."
"How do you know that?"
"He called me. How did he know you were here? Same answer. Where else would you go?"
"is he annoyed?"
"I don't think `annoyed' is a strong enough word."
"When do I see him?"
"Half past five."
"In the afternoon, obviously. Am I being forced to cool my heels all day, until half past five, as a subtle expression of displeasure?"