They were on the road to Annapolis by eleven o’clock. Saturday’s rain had cleared, and it was a beautiful, breezy end-of-fall Sunday. They drove right through downtown, Kelleher giving them an informal tour that ended down by the docks, where boats were still tied up even with winter fast approaching. Soon Kelleher turned right into what was labeled GATE 1 at the Naval Academy.
Kelleher had some kind of special pass that allowed him to park on the academy grounds. “This place is a lot smaller than the Post is up at Army,” he explained after they had been waved on through by the marine posted at the gate. “After 9/11, they banned all civilian traffic unless you had a special pass.”
“How’d you get one?” Stevie asked.
“I know the guy who does their radio broadcasts.”
Stevie wasn’t surprised. When it came to parking, Kelleher always seemed to know someone.
They drove no more than a few hundred yards up the road until it curved left at the water’s edge. Stevie could see downtown Annapolis directly across the water to the right. Kelleher swung the car into a small parking lot marked RICKETTS HALL and parked in a spot that said ATHLETIC DIRECTOR on it.
“Chet won’t mind,” Kelleher said, referring to Navy AD Chet Gladchuk. “He’s got a Yard pass-he can park on the sidewalk if he wants. Come on, let’s go find Scott Strasemeier and get the show on the road. We need to get a lot done today.”
Almost on cue, the front door to Ricketts Hall opened and a man of about forty came walking out.
“Scott, we were just talking about you,” Kelleher said as he walked up.
“At your service, as ever,” the Navy sports information director replied.
They told him who everyone wanted to talk to and he nodded, taking it all in. Susan Carol interviewing Alan Arnott after practice would be no problem. “You know Kenny, he’ll give you all the time you need,” Strasemeier said to Kelleher. Getting Stevie time with Ricky Dobbs would be a little more complicated because all the TV people wanted to talk to him too, but he’d work him in.
“Meanwhile, we’re flooded with Secret Service guys today,” Strasemeier added. “They’re all over on the practice field. Oh-Susan Carol, the Secret Service have a meeting with Alan Arnott after practice, so we’ll get you to him right after.”
While they talked, a number of players walked past them in their practice gear en route to the field. And to Stevie, it seemed that every last one of them stopped to say hello to Susan Carol.
“Thawed out yet?” said one who Stevie recognized as quarterback Ricky Dobbs.
“Just barely,” Susan Carol answered, giving him The Smile.
“Did you get to know the whole team out at Notre Dame?” Stevie asked.
“Only about half of them,” Tamara answered before Susan Carol could say anything.
They followed Strasemeier toward the practice field. A large gaggle of media were already out there, about twice the contingent that had been at Army the day before. Stevie was a little surprised to see that many people on a Sunday when the Redskins were playing.
“The Redskins are in Detroit,” Kelleher said, doing his mind-reading thing. “They’re also lousy. So not as many people made the trip out there. If the Redskins were any good, half these guys wouldn’t be here.”
One of the TV guys was approaching them. Stevie knew he was a TV guy because he was wearing a suit, and a print or radio guy wouldn’t be caught dead in a suit at noon on a Sunday.
“Hello, everyone, nice to see you,” the TV guy said. He turned to Stevie and Susan Carol. “Bret Haber from Channel Nine in Washington,” he said. “We met at the World Series.”
That’s where he’d seen him, Stevie remembered.
“So, Bobby, you’re the smart one; what’s with all the Secret Service up here for practice?” Haber said, nodding across the field, where Stevie could see Pete Dowling and several other guys in suits all wearing sunglasses with their arms folded.
“Good question,” Kelleher said. “It might be one of those weird situations where the best way to find out is to ask.”
Haber grunted. “I know I’m just a TV guy, so you may not believe this, but I already thought of that. I did ask.”
“And…”
“And I was told to call the public information office if I wanted any comment.”
“Maybe they’ve seen your work.”
“Funny,” Haber said. “I suppose you’ll have better luck with them.”
“Doubt it,” Kelleher said. “They’ve probably seen my work too.”
It was apparent to Stevie that, even though Kelleher and Haber were friends, Kelleher wasn’t going to fill him in, even a little bit.
Haber laughed, waved a hand, and headed back to his camera crew.
“So, do we think it’s significant that Agent Dowling is here to speak to Alan Arnott?” Susan Carol asked as they watched him pull out his phone.
Just then, Bobby’s phone started to ring in his pocket. He looked at it and raised his eyebrows. “It would seem so,” he said as he answered. He listened for a minute, then said, “Fine. Ten minutes.”
He snapped the phone shut. “He’d like to meet us outside, by the water, in ten minutes.”
Tamara suggested, rather loudly, that she and Bobby should give Stevie and Susan Carol a tour of the Yard since they’d never been there, and they all headed away from the field toward the water.
Susan Carol was so preoccupied that she barely noticed how pretty it all was. There were boats chugging in and out of the harbor. She could see the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, which stretched across the bay, connecting Annapolis and the rest of Maryland to the state’s eastern shore.
But she couldn’t focus on the sights at all. Playing cat and mouse with the Secret Service wasn’t the reason she had gotten involved in sportswriting.
She loved to write. She loved sports. She love watching the practices up close and the games from the sidelines. She loved the camaraderie of the other writers.
And she really loved working with Stevie. He was different from the boys at school: for one thing, he hadn’t liked her right away. In fact, he had clearly disliked her. But she had earned his respect and he had earned hers. Stevie was the first boy who had really treated her just as a person, who had fought with her, disagreed with her. And usually, working with him made her feel safe-she knew he had her back. Now, though, even with the people she felt closest to, she was uncomfortable.
She liked the idea of breaking a story and the fact that she could get people to talk to her. But she wondered where the line was where you crossed over from reporting to being some kind of investigator she had never set out to be.
Pete Dowling and Bob Campbell were sitting on a bench at the corner of the seawall. There was a light right behind the bench and, reading the inscription, Susan Carol learned the light had originally been on a ship called the Triton.
“I’ll say one thing for you guys, you know how to pick a pretty spot,” Kelleher said.
“Didn’t even notice, to be honest,” Dowling said. “I just wanted to get far enough away from the practice field that no one would see us.”
“So what’s up?” Kelleher said, leaning against the seawall.
Dowling look at Campbell and then responded in carefully chosen words. “We know you’re thinking that we might have some concerns about the Arnott family.” He stopped for a moment. “I’m willing to fill you in on what’s going on, but it has to be off the record.”
“Why?” Kelleher asked.
“What do you mean why?” Dowling asked.
“Well, yesterday afternoon, you let me know, in no uncertain terms, that you wanted Stevie and Susan Carol to back off. Now you want to fill us in, but it has to be off the record. Why?”
Both Bobby and Tamara had always counseled them that you never let someone go off the record without at least explaining why first. At the very least it made the person feel a little beholden to you for cooperating.
“We’re willing to talk because we think you’re likely to make the situation worse if you don’t know what’s going on. And we need to go off the record because if you print any of this, it could jeopardize an ongoing FBI operation.”
That news was shocking enough to silence everyone for a moment. Kelleher regained his composure first.
“As long as that’s really the case, then I’m okay with off the record,” Kelleher said.
“Come on, Bobby, we’ve known each other a long time,” Dowling said. “Have I ever misled you?”
“No. I don’t think you have. Okay, let’s hear it.”
Dowling turned to Campbell. “Go ahead, Bob, you’re the one who knows it best.”
“Okay. The FBI has an agent inside a white supremacy group called the Knights of the White Christian Soldiers-it’s something like the KKK, but nowhere near as well organized. And one of the members of that group is Michael Arnott-father to both Michael Junior and Alan.
“And last night, the FBI alerted us that Mr. Arnott had been talking about the Army-Navy game at a specially called meeting.”
“Whoa,” Stevie couldn’t help saying.
Susan Carol’s heart sank a little-she’d really liked Michael Arnott. Clearly his differences with his father were more serious than he’d let on.
“He said he believed his sons had been singled out by us for special attention. He said we’d interviewed a lot of kids for background but thought his sons were really our targets.”
“What made him think that?” Stevie asked.
“Could just be paranoia.” Campbell shrugged. “But the point is that he seemed to the FBI agent to be inordinately upset about it. He could just be pissed off that his sons are being questioned. Or it could be that our attention is messing up some plan of his.”
“But,” Stevie couldn’t help interjecting again, “did they talk about a plan?”
Campbell shook his head. “Nothing specific, no,” he said. “But there was enough talk about the Army-Navy game and the fact that the president was going to be there to make the FBI alert us.”
“Does this group have any history of violence?” Tamara asked.
“Nothing that’s been proven so far. But if the FBI feels it’s worth having a man inside, we have to believe it’s a possibility.”
That pronouncement made for another sobering pause in the conversation.
Then Dowling continued. “So, Susan Carol. We know you’re slated to talk to Alan Arnott. And I’m asking you not to dig into his family.”
“But the whole point of the interview is to talk about his brother at Army,” she said.
“Right-his brother is fine. Just stay away from the father and politics and the president.”
“But I’ve been asking everyone about those things-what it means to have the president at the game, things like that. Wouldn’t it be more suspicious not to ask?” Susan Carol said. She wasn’t sure why she was arguing, really. She just hated the whole situation.
Dowling sighed. “Look, Susan Carol, I’m going to ask you to use your best judgment.
“I need you all to take this seriously. The FBI agent feels that the other members of the KWCS are suspicious of him. So if you push too hard, or ask questions about white supremacy groups, or seem to know too much, it could come back on him, and that’s the last thing we need right now.”
“But I don’t know much,” Susan Carol protested.
“No.” Dowling gave the barest hint of a smile. “But you’ve proven yourself to be a good guesser.”
The reporters walked back to the practice field in silence.
The postpractice plan was still the same, but suddenly everything felt different.