“I heard you took quite a hit,” Dowling said as Stevie, Susan Carol, and Kelly walked up.
“He dislocated his elbow,” Kelly said. “I was able to pop it back in.”
“Stevie was very brave,” Susan Carol put in.
Tamara had returned from her interview with the supe. “Stevie! I leave you two alone for two hours…,” she teased, clearly relieved that he seemed okay.
More media members had also shown up. There were a couple of TV crews, but they weren’t filming anything, apparently at Ellerson’s request. Beretta introduced Stevie and Susan Carol to two columnists who had joined the group shivering in the rain: Mike Vaccaro from the New York Post and Kevin Gleason from the Times Herald-Record, the local paper that, Stevie knew from reading clips, covered Army more thoroughly than anyone.
“It is such a pleasure to meet you both,” Susan Carol said. “Mr. Vaccaro, I just loved your book on the World Series.”
Dowling turned to Beretta and said, “Bob, did you explain to these guys that I’m going to need a couple of your kids as soon as practice is over?”
“Didn’t get the chance yet,” Beretta said. “I’m sure they understand.”
“It’s just some background stuff we’re finishing up,” Dowling said. “Pretty routine. Won’t take long.”
“I think the media request who is on your list, Pete, is Mike Arnott,” Beretta said. “The rest of the guys the media needs you’ve already talked to. Kathy and Susan Carol wanted to talk to Mike. I’ll get you two in with Derek Klein while you’re waiting.”
Stevie noticed that Ellerson had blown his whistle and all the players were making their way toward the middle of the field.
“Is it okay if I go listen?” Stevie asked.
“Sure,” Beretta said. “I doubt if he’s going to keep them long in this weather.”
Stevie trotted onto the field, followed by Gleason.
“I’ll represent the old guys,” Gleason said.
The players had gathered around Ellerson. Most took a knee, Stevie noticing that the artificial turf field-which looked at first glance like real grass-hadn’t gotten too wet.
“Fellas, if the weather is like this tomorrow, we’ll go inside,” Ellerson said. “We want to know what bad weather feels like, but we also don’t want anyone getting sick. That was a good workout today.” He glanced in Stevie’s direction and said, “Mr. Thomas, I’m glad to see you look to be okay. Jared, that’s one less member of the media who will write anything bad about you.”
Everyone laughed.
Ellerson went on. “There are seven of you who Mr. Dowling from the Secret Service needs to see today just to go over some paperwork issues. I know it’s a pain, but these guys are just doing a job-a tough one at that. So, once you’ve showered, I need Conroy, Calame, Parker, Klein, Thompson, Arnott, and Davis to report to Mr. Hall’s office. Mr. Dowling will talk to each of you there. He won’t need more than a few minutes.
“Same time tomorrow. And, fellas: I know it’s Saturday, I know you can sleep in tomorrow, but let’s not get carried away tonight. One week from today we’ll be playing Navy. Remember that.”
They huddled up, hands in, and on the count of three said, “Beat Navy!”
Then they all began sprinting for the locker room, wanting to get inside as fast as possible.
Stevie and Gleason returned to the others on the sideline.
“Anything gripping?” Vaccaro asked.
“Yeah,” Gleason said. “I’ve learned exclusively that they want to beat Navy.”
But Stevie did have something. He had a list of seven names the Secret Service was interested in-perhaps in more than a routine way.
As everyone headed to the locker room, Stevie felt an arm on his shoulders.
“Hey, I just wanted to be sure you’re okay.”
Stevie looked up and saw Jared Hassin, the running back who had barreled into him.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I guess my elbow got dislocated when I hit the ground. Mr. Kelly popped it back in.”
“Glad to hear it,” Hassin said. “I’m really sorry, man. I saw you, I just couldn’t stop.”
“No, no, it was my fault,” Stevie said. “I wasn’t paying enough attention.”
They shook hands and Hassin trotted off. It was really tough not to like all these guys.
He followed the media group inside. Coach Ellerson was going to be in an interview room right away, and the players who had been requested by media would be available after they showered and changed.
“Trent said he needs about fifteen minutes,” Bob Baretta said, seeing Stevie as he walked in. “It will be you and Mike Vaccaro.”
Stevie had asked to interview quarterback Trent Steelman-but he was happy for a few minutes to think first. His head was swimming with half-formed theories and questions.
He decided to use the time to call Kelleher. Telling Bobby helped him order his thoughts on it all.
“So what did Kelly say on the phone? ‘A positive connection’?”
“Right. But… just because someone belongs to a hate group-or knows someone who does-it doesn’t mean they have plans to do anything…”
“True, you’re right. But clearly the Secret Service is taking it seriously.”
“This security story is starting to feel a little too real,” Stevie said.
“I know,” Kelleher said. “But the Secret Service and the FBI know what they’re doing, especially when it comes to protecting the president. They don’t mess around.”
“So what do we do now?” Stevie asked.
“Get your interviews done and write today’s stories,” Kelleher said. “Write what you know now-”
“I know,” finished Stevie, “and keep digging.”
Not surprisingly, Trent Steelman was bright, engaging, and funny. He got Stevie’s attention right away when he mentioned that he had been eleven years old the last time Army had beaten Navy. Stevie did a little math and realized that he had been six the last time Army had won the game.
He asked Steelman how he and his teammates felt about President Obama coming to the game. Steelman smiled.
“Well, on the one hand, it’s a thrill,” he said. “I think we’re all looking forward to meeting him, getting a chance to shake hands with him. He’s the commander in chief…”
He paused. Vaccaro jumped in. “But,” he said.
Steelman shrugged. “To be honest, the whole security thing is wearing us out a little,” he said. “We all understand it, but they told us that when we get to the stadium, we’re all going to have to get off the bus, get wanded, have the bus checked, and only then will they let us drive into the tunnel. Like I said, I get it, but we’re just trying to get ready to play a football game. One none of us have ever won.”
Stevie understood. He liked Steelman’s honesty.
“I know you guys get asked this all the time,” he said. “But can you talk about what it’s like to be a student and an athlete here?”
“You mean what’s it like to try juggle steak knives with one hand while shooting a rifle with the other?” Steelman asked, smiling.
“It’s hard,” he continued. “It’s hard every day. One of the sayings among the cadets is that this is a great place to be from but not a great place to be.
“But I actually like that it’s hard. I think all of us-at least all of us who stay-feel that way. We get up early, we can’t miss class, we can get into trouble for almost anything. The other day one of the guys got put on report because he got caught riding an elevator in the barracks between classes. He had knee surgery two months ago, so he sneaks onto the elevator every now and then.
“But we all chose this. And going through the same tough experience together really forms a bond. So being here? Playing with these guys and under these amazing coaches? This is the easiest part of my week. The best part of my week.”
“Even on a cold wet practice like today?”
“Oh yeah, even today. No-maybe especially today. Because it’s so close, this game we’ve been working toward. We’re almost there. And we’re ready.”
At that moment, Susan Carol and Kathy Orton were being introduced to Michael Arnott. The first thing Susan Carol noticed was that they were both taller than he was. Linebackers at the military academies came in considerably different sizes, she thought, than they did at the big-time schools.
Arnott was wearing his gray winter uniform, had wavy blond hair, and was, Susan Carol thought, quite handsome. He had an easygoing manner and apologized for making the two reporters wait. “I had to talk to the Secret Service, really sorry.”
“Not exactly your fault,” Kathy said.
Arnott smiled. “True enough,” he said as they all sat down.
Susan Carol noticed he had a southern accent. “Sounds like you’re a southerner like me,” she said.
“I’m from Sumter, South Carolina.”
“Nice weather to practice in today, huh?”
Arnott laughed. “After four years at this place, you almost don’t notice it anymore.”
They talked for a while about the game, about how much Army wanted to break the losing streak against Navy, and how having a brother there-and a younger brother at that-made the rivalry all the more intense.
What Susan Carol really wanted to know was what the Secret Service had asked him, so she was pleased when Orton moved the discussion away from football. “This is the first time President Obama’s been to the game,” she said. “Are you guys looking forward to that?”
Susan Carol watched Arnott closely, checking his face and his body language.
“Anytime the president comes, it’s a big deal,” he said. “I know we’re all hoping to shake his hand. I know for me, I’ll always remember that the first time I pulled a lever in a presidential election, it was for President Obama. So it will be exciting to actually meet him. But I think my roommate, Adrian Calame, is even more excited. We’ve talked a lot about what it means to him and to other African Americans to have an African American in the White House. It’s cool to feel part of a time when the country is changing-and to be a part of that change.”
Orton asked, “Being here at the academy and in the north, have you found racial attitudes a little bit different than where you grew up?”
Arnott nodded. “To put it mildly,” he said. “I grew up in an all-white neighborhood and got sent to an all-white private school when I was in the sixth grade. So I competed against black players in high school but never with one until I got here. My parents and a lot of their friends are from a generation that hasn’t quite outgrown a lot of the traditions of the old South. I argue with them all the time about whether the Confederate flag should fly over the statehouse in South Carolina.”
“So how did your parents feel when you told them you’d voted for President Obama?” Susan Carol asked.
Arnott smiled ruefully. “My dad told me I was an idiot. But that’s part of what I mean about things changing. My dad said that it was one of the saddest days in American history. But I think it was one of our best.”
When Stevie and Susan Carol compared notes after their interviews, things were as murky as before.
“Michael Arnott did say his dad was upset about the election, so I guess there could be something there. And since his brother is at Navy, what Kelly said about the Secret Service doing the same thing at both schools could mean they were talking to Alan Arnott too…”
“We’re guessing, though.”
“Totally. Well,” Susan Carol said, “we’ve got security questions, so I guess we should talk to our Secret Service contact.”
“But how can we ask when we’re not supposed to know any of this?”
“Carefully.”
They found Dicky Hall outside his office.
“Is Mr. Dowling still in there?” Stevie asked.
Hall nodded. “He’s with Joel Davis. Should be almost finished-he said I could have my office back about now.”
Just then, the door to his office opened and Joel Davis walked out. Dowling was gathering up papers spread in front of him on Hall’s desk.
“All done, Dick,” he said. “Thanks for letting me use the office.”
“No problem,” Hall said.
“Could we talk for a minute, Mr. Dowling?” Susan Carol asked.
Dowling looked at his watch. “Sure, I’ve got a minute.”
Hall stepped back to let Stevie and Susan Carol walk inside. And pulled the door shut behind them.
“What’s up, guys?” Dowling asked.
“We’re not sure-but it’s starting to feel like something,” Stevie began.
Dowling raised an eyebrow.
“Well, we know you guys were a little concerned about what happened in Philadelphia…”
“Fraternity prank,” Dowling said.
“As you keep saying. But then rumors started about the president not coming-”
“Rumors that are untrue,” Dowling cut in.
“But now we hear Vice President Biden’s not coming,” said Susan Carol.
“Where did you hear that?”
“And now you’ve found some kind of connection between a player and a hate group…,” Susan Carol continued.
“What?!” Dowling was clearly getting agitated.
“And today you had more follow-up questions for seven players-”
“Totally routine,” Dowling interrupted.
“And one of those players was Michael Arnott, who I just interviewed with Kathy Orton…”
Dowling was quiet now, so Susan Carol kept going. “And he happened to mention that his father was very upset about the election.”
“How did he happen to mention that? I hope you haven’t been sharing these… speculations of yours with-”
“No! Of course not,” Susan Carol rushed to say. “Kathy was asking how he felt about meeting the president, same as we’ve been asking everyone.”
“And we are working on a story about security at the game-you know that,” Stevie added.
Dowling sighed. “Yes, but right now, I wish you weren’t.”
“Because we’re right about this?” Susan Carol asked-a little surprised.
“No, because I’m afraid you’re going to chase after these rumors and ideas you’ve got and make my job harder.”
“Well,” Stevie offered, “if you filled us in on what’s going on, we’d be less likely to do that…”
“No.” Dowling was firm. “In my job, people tell me what they know, not the other way around.
“Now, I know that neither of your papers would print a story based on the kind of flimsy conjectures you’ve got going. And I will ask you both to please tread lightly on this and let the Secret Service do their job unimpeded.
“I’ll be speaking to Bobby Kelleher about this-I suggest you do the same.”
Susan Carol and Stevie exchanged a look as Dowling picked up his papers and briefcase and strode from the room.
One week before the Army-Navy game, and something was officially up.