By Saturday, Susan Carol had mostly shaken off her bad swim and the letter to the editor. Or at least put them in the back of her mind. She was too busy to brood. Stevie was running down the schedule for their afternoon at West Point.
“The team practices at three o’clock. We’re seeing Coach Ellerson in his office at one thirty, and Tamara’s talking to the superintendent at two. We’ve got to write some kind of story, maybe two, for the Sunday papers after practice. They’ll really start gearing up the coverage in the Sunday papers.”
Susan Carol nodded. “And what about the security story?”
“Bobby wanted us to talk to either Dowling or Campbell-if they’re here-and see if we can confirm his source’s tip that the president might not come. Oh, and find out why not, of course.”
“Sure, no problem.”
When they arrived at Ellerson’s office, the receptionist said, “You guys are right on time. The only problem is, Coach isn’t. He’s in a meeting right now, but I’m sure he’ll be with you just as soon as possible.”
So they waited. Twenty minutes later, they saw two men walking down the hallway in their direction. One was Rich Ellerson. The other was Pete Dowling.
“Hey, Steve, you got out of the dining room at the Linc,” Dowling said, smiling as everyone shook hands.
Stevie introduced Susan Carol to Ellerson and Dowling.
“So am I guessing that you being here means the president is still coming to the game?” Susan Carol said, flashing The Smile to try to make the question sound like “What time is sunset?” rather than something more serious.
If the question bothered Dowling, he didn’t show it. “Don’t believe everything Bobby Kelleher tells you,” he said. “I saw that story in the Herald this morning. His guy got a bad tip. The president’s coming. I think everyone’s jumping at shadows a little bit because of what happened Tuesday.”
“Fraternity prank,” Stevie said.
“Odd but true,” Dowling said. “And now everyone’s putting two and two together and getting five.”
“So you aren’t worried about anything?” Susan Carol asked.
Dowling laughed. “I worry about everything,” he said. “That’s my job.”
“Will you be around today?” Susan Carol asked.
“All day,” Dowling said. “Maybe I’ll see you at practice.”
They shook hands and Ellerson waved them into his office, which had a great view overlooking the stadium, the field, the reservoir, and the wooded hills beyond.
“We may not be able to recruit too many NFL prospects here,” Ellerson said as they sat down. “But I wouldn’t trade my office with any coach in the country.”
Stevie could see why. It was spacious, and the view was spectacular.
“Does all this Secret Service stuff bother you?” Susan Carol asked once they were seated. “I mean, is it a distraction?”
“For the players, I’d say no. The older guys on the team have been through this before. For me, it’s a first, so it adds some time and detail I could probably live without. But it’s part of the deal here at Army. And it’s an honor to have the president attend. I’m just disappointed the vice president isn’t coming. I’m told he’s a big Army fan. The president will be more neutral.”
Stevie looked at Susan Carol. They had been told from the start that Vice President Biden was going to attend with President Obama. This was the first they’d heard about the VP not coming.
“So Biden’s not coming?” Susan Carol said to confirm.
“Apparently not,” Ellerson said. He paused. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t have told you that. Do me a favor and don’t use that unless you hear it from Agent Dowling. He was pretty firm that I wasn’t supposed to say anything about our meeting, and I didn’t realize word wasn’t out about Biden.”
“It might be,” Stevie said. “It’s probably common knowledge and we just hadn’t heard it yet.”
Ellerson nodded. “Yeah, probably. I guess they’re always a little hesitant about the two of them being in the same place…”
“And after Tuesday…,” Susan Carol said.
Ellerson held up a hand. “Let’s talk football, okay? This isn’t my area of expertise.”
The next forty minutes were entertaining. Ellerson knew a lot of Army-Navy lore, especially since his father and uncle were both graduates. His uncle had been captain of the 1962 team, and Ellerson clearly had a longstanding love of the place.
“You know, Jim Platt, one of our assistant basketball coaches, may have described it best,” he told them. “He said, ‘Coaching the kids who come here is never easy, but it sure is fun to try.’ Most aren’t naturally gifted, but to say they’d run through a wall for you isn’t hyperbole.”
He filled them in on some of the team’s most story-worthy players: three players had brothers deployed in either Iraq or Afghanistan. One had a cousin who had been killed in Iraq. Many came from military families and considered the five years in the military after graduation a calling more than an obligation.
Stevie was truly sorry when it was time to go. “Anything comes up, call me,” Ellerson said, giving them both his cell number. “Only thing I ask in return is you protect me on the Biden thing.”
Stevie and Susan Carol walked around the post a bit before practice started, but it was cold and gray, and a light mist was falling, so it wasn’t the scenic stroll Stevie had been imagining. And standing on the sidelines wasn’t much nicer.
“Why can’t they practice inside?” Susan Carol said. “It’s like thirty-five degrees out here-maybe.”
“Last I knew, the game’s being played outdoors,” Stevie said.
But he felt bad when he saw Susan Carol shivering.
He found Bob Beretta, the Army sports information director, and asked if he could go inside and ask Dick Hall for a hat for Susan Carol.
Beretta smiled. “Of course. Dicky will give you all the warm clothing that you want. If someone else stops you, just tell them I sent you to Dicky.”
Hall was working on a player’s helmet when Stevie walked in.
“See if that feels better, Ronnie,” he said.
The player moved his head from side to side. “Much better,” he said. “Thanks, Mr. Hall.”
Hall gave him a pat on the shoulder as he headed for the field. Seeing Stevie, Hall broke into a wide grin. “Well, if it isn’t our own Bob Woodward,” he said.
Stevie laughed. “Yes-and Bernstein’s outside, and she’s freezing. I was hoping you could spare a couple of those warm stocking caps.”
“Follow me,” Hall said.
He veered into his office for a moment and began tossing candy packages at Stevie from a large bowl. Once Stevie’s hands were full, he led him into a room off the locker room that was filled with every imaginable piece of football equipment-helmets, shoulder pads, jerseys, pants, sweats, and caps. He stopped in front of a shelf near the back and pulled a box down.
He picked two black and gold ski caps that said ARMY out of the box and tossed them to Stevie. “Two enough?” he said. “Need anything else?”
Stevie wouldn’t have minded grabbing one of everything-except maybe the shoulder pads and helmets-but he shook his head. “No thanks,” he said. Then thought again. “Well, maybe some information? I think the Secret Service is nervous about next Saturday. And I have a feeling you may know for sure.”
Hall’s smile faded. “Why would I know?” he asked.
“Because you’re the guy around here who knows everything,” Stevie said. “Am I right?”
“You’re half right,” Hall said. “Come with me.”
He led him through the locker room and into the training room and knocked on the door to an office in the back.
Hall pushed the door open and Stevie saw Tim Kelly at his desk doing some paperwork. He smiled when he looked up and saw Stevie.
“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” he said.
“Our friend is looking for some help,” Hall said.
“You hurt?” Kelly asked. “Everything okay? Should I get one of our docs?”
“No, no, I’m fine, thanks,” Stevie said. “But I was asking Mr. Hall what was going on with the Secret Service and he brought me to you. I figure you’re the people who know what’s really going on around here.”
“You’re right,” said Kelly. “That’s what the Secret Service thought too.”