The collars of both were wilted by sweat, and there were sweat-soaked patches under the jacket armpits.
"Good evening, Senator," the Secret Service agent said. "I'm Special Agent McNulty of the Presidential detail." Fowler nodded at him but did not speak.
We have a White House car, Senator, whenever you and Captain Pickering are ready," Secret Service Agent McNulty said.
"Please thank the President," Senator Fowler said, "and tell him that both the Captain and I are quite able to walk across the street and would prefer to do so."
"There has been a change of plans, Senator," the Naval aide said. "I'm Commander Jellington, Sir, the President's Naval aide."
Fowler looked at him and waited for him to go on. When he did not, Fowler said, "Is the change of plans really a matter of national security, Commander? Or are you going to tell me what the change is?"
"Dinner will be aboard the Potomac, Senator," McNulty answered for him.
"Hence, the Naval aide, right?" Fowler said. "Come in."
"Thank you, Sir," they said almost in unison.
"Actually, Sir," Commander Jellington said, "the President sent me to be of whatever assistance I could to Captain Pickering.
"Rendering assistance to Captain Pickering is right up there with trying to pet an alligator -constipated alligator," Fowler added. "You stand a good chance of having the friendly hand bitten off at the shoulder." He led the two down a corridor to the sitting room, which was on the corner of the building.
"There has been a change of plans, Fleming," Fowler announced to what looked like an empty room. "We are going to dine on the Potomac.
"What does that mean?" Pickering's voice came from a high-backed leather chair placed directly in front of the room s air-conditioning duct.
"The Potomac is the Presidential yacht, Sir," Commander Jellington said.
Pickering rose from the chair. He was dressed in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. He was shoeless, but wearing calf-high black. St stockings held in place by garters. Bandages across his one could be seen through the thin cotton of the T-shirt.
Neither the Naval aide nor the Secret Service agent seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.
"Good afternoon, Captain Pickering," the Naval aide said. "Sir, I'm Commander Jellington. The President thought I might in some way be helpful to you."
"Whenever you and the Senator are ready, Sir," Agent McNulty said, "we have a White House car."
The last I heard," Pickering said, glowering at Senator Fowler, "this was going to be cocktails and a simple supper across the street." He gestured with his right arm toward the White House; in his hand he held a bottle of Canadian ale.
"And starting at half past six. It's only five something."
"The President has apparently changed his mind," Fowler said. "We are going to dine aboard the Potomac. And may I suggest that it behooves you, Captain, as a Naval officer, to manifest a cheerful and willing obedience to the desires of your commander in chief?"
"That sonofabitch," Captain Pickering said. "I should have known he'd pull something like this."
The eyes of Special Agent McNulty widened. He was not used to hearing the President referred to in such terms, much less by someone about to be honored with the great privilege of an intimate dinner with the President aboard the Presidential yacht.
"I think we should all remember that Captain Pickering is a wounded hero," Senator Fowler said, a touch of amusement in his voice, "just recently released from the hospital. And we all know that wounded heroes are a little crazy and have to be humored, don't we?"
"Fuck you, Senator," Captain Pickering said.
McNulty was more than a little uncomfortable. It was one of those situations not neatly covered by regulations and policy.
On one hand he took very seriously (his wife said "religiously") his duty to protect the President of the United States from all threats, real or potential: Here was a man who'd obviously been drinking, who angrily referred to the President as "that sonofabitch," who was just out of the hospital, and was quite possibly at least a little off the tracks, mentally speaking. A rational man did not say "Fuck you!" to a man like Senator Richmond Fowler.
On the other hand Senator Fowler seemed more amused than disturbed by Pickering's behavior, and it could be presumed that the Senator was at least nearly as concerned with the safety of the President as the Secret Service.
McNulty realized that he had two options: He could get on the phone and tell the supervisory agent on duty that he had a potential loony here who'd been at the bottle and should not be allowed anywhere near the President. The trouble was that the loony was not only the President's personal invitee, but a very close personal friend of Senator Fowler. Indeed, he was living in the Senator's hotel suite; and the Senator had not gone bananas when this Pickering guy told him to fuck himself.
Option two was to say nothing but keep a close eye on him.
"Commander," Senator Fowler said, "Captain Pickering has a nice fresh uniform in that bedroom. Perhaps you'd be good enough to help him into it?"
"You stay where you are, Commander!" Captain Pickering ordered. He marched across the room, entered the bedroom, and closed the door.
A moment later it opened again.
"Commander," Captain Pickering said, almost humbly, "if you wouldn't mind, I could use some help."
"Yes, Sir," the Naval aide said.
Special Agent McNulty decided that for the time being, option two seemed best.
"I'll give you a hand, Jellington," he said and followed him into Captain Pickering's bedroom.
[Five]
THE WASHINGTON NAVY YARD
1750 HOURS I SEPTEMBER 1942
Two limousines drove onto the wharf, where they were immediately stopped by neatly dressed men in business suits. The first limousine held a Naval aide to the President of the United States and a member of the Secret Service Presidential Security detail. There was a wave of recognition; then the limousine, Cadillac, was given a wave of permission to drive farther down the wharf.
Instead, the Secret Service agent got out of the Presidential 1941 Cadillac.
He indicated the second limousine, a 1942 Packard 280.
"Senator Fowler and Captain Pickering are in that one," McNulty said to his Secret Service colleagues. "I'll identify them for you." One of his colleagues asked the obvious question: "Why aren't they riding in the White House car?"
"Because the Senator's Packard is air conditioned, and the White House car isn't, " McNulty said.
He opened the front-seat passenger door in time to hear Senator Fowler say, "Now for God's sake, Fleming, when we go on board, watch your mouth. You've been at the sauce all afternoon."
"Just pull up behind the other car," McNulty said to Fowler's chauffeur.
There was a twenty-foot-high wall of corrugated paper boxes on the wharf, leaving just enough room for a car to pass between it and the small white ship tied up at the wharf.
Or a truck, Fleming Pickering decided, once he was out of the Packard. That stuff is intended for a ship's galleys. This place really is a working Navy yard, not just a place for the President to park his yacht.