capital. It was almost 6:30 p.m., a grainy Shenandoah evening, and because of the fog it was practically dark.
‘We’re all set to go, Mr Secretary,’ said Joe, as Titus came out of the bedroom smelling of Jules aftershave, the last of his cigar still clenched between his teeth.
‘Did you put in that call to my wife?’
‘Yes, sir. She’s decided to stay in Philadelphia one more night, but she’s expected back by Thursday afternoon. Your stepchildren are both at home.’
‘Shit,’ said Titus, tautly tugging at his left cuff, and giving himself a last inspection in the mirror. That’s all I need. Carl and Samantha, unlovability incarnate.’
Joe picked a wiry grey hair from Titus’ shoulder. There was a call from Mr Nott, in Britain, but apparently it wasn’t urgent. And Mr Yusef called, about the pipeline arrangement.’
‘Any word from Schmidt?’
Joe shook his head. ‘None. He seems to be playing this one really close to the chest.’
‘Hm,’ said Titus. Then, ‘Let s go. We got everything?’
They left the suite and walked down the overheated, red-carpeted corridor. From inside one of the rooms they passed, there was the buzzing of somebody shaving, and from inside the next room, the muted burble of the Mary Tyler Moore Show. The Secret Service agent walked a pace or two behind them, whistling between his teeth. His colleague was waiting in the lobby, bulky, nondescript, with brush-cut hair and the kind of belted weekend suit they advertise in the Saturday newspapers.
‘Mr Secretary,’ nodded the second agent, as Titus came down the staircase to the lobby. ‘Everything’s ready. I’m real sorry you had to cut short your fishing.’
‘Well, can’t be helped,smiled Titus, wryly. Over the hotel’s reception desk there was a large stuffed pike, illuminated with a spotlight. The Front Royal Towers had always advertised itself as The Compleat Resort for Anglers’.
They descended the wet stone steps outside. Titus’ official black limousine was parked just outside the wall that surrounded the sun patio. This evening, the sun patio was barely visible, puddled and mossy, with a solitary sundial dripping in the twilight like a forgotten tombstone.
‘I think I’ll travel with Joe, Titus told his Secret Servicemen. ‘Joe? I want to go over some of this RING business with you. Maybe we can work out some angles.’
‘Mr Jasper’s car isn’t bulletproofed, sir,one of the agents pointed out. ‘If there should be any kind of irregularity…’
‘Don’t you love it?’ said Titus, cracking into a grin. They call an assassination attempt an “irregularity”. Well, I can tell you son, the only irregularity that’s going on around here concerns my bowels, and that’s only because of those damned stepchildren of mine occupying both damned bathrooms for hours on end, making-up and shaving and popping their zits while I have to get myself off to the State Department. And let me tell you this is the first time in my life. I was so damned regular in Viet Nam that the USS New Jersey used to fire off its morning
salvo as soon as their lookouts saw my toilet door open. Better than a goddamn naval chronometer.’
The Secret Servicemen shrugged, and walked across to the official limousine with that arms-swinging round-shouldered gait exclusive to bodyguards. Titus climbed into Joe Jasper’s car, and said, ‘How about another one of those cheap cigars of yours, Joe?’ The car’s windshield was beaded with moisture, so Joe switched on the wipers, and cleared it away.
‘I’ve got to tell you, this is the first time I’ve gladly cut a fishing-trip short,said Titus. ‘You’ve got to tell me how you managed to lay your hands on that stuff. That was a stroke of genius. You hear that? I’m paying you a compliment.’
Joe started the engine. The whole thing came to light when I was talking to a man called lacono in Atlantic City. He simply said that he’d met a girl who was boasting that
‘We’re all set to go, Mr Secretary,’ said Joe, as Titus came out of the bedroom smelling of Jules aftershave, the last of his cigar still clenched between his teeth.
‘Did you put in that call to my wife?’
‘Yes, sir. She’s decided to stay in Philadelphia one more night, but she’s expected back by Thursday afternoon. Your stepchildren are both at home.’
‘Shit,’ said Titus, tautly tugging at his left cuff, and giving himself a last inspection in the mirror. That’s all I need. Carl and Samantha, unlovability incarnate.’
Joe picked a wiry grey hair from Titus’ shoulder. There was a call from Mr Nott, in Britain, but apparently it wasn’t urgent. And Mr Yusef called, about the pipeline arrangement.’
‘Any word from Schmidt?’
Joe shook his head. ‘None. He seems to be playing this one really close to the chest.’
‘Hm,’ said Titus. Then, ‘Let s go. We got everything?’
They left the suite and walked down the overheated, red-carpeted corridor. From inside one of the rooms they passed, there was the buzzing of somebody shaving, and from inside the next room, the muted burble of the Mary Tyler Moore Show. The Secret Service agent walked a pace or two behind them, whistling between his teeth. His colleague was waiting in the lobby, bulky, nondescript, with brush-cut hair and the kind of belted weekend suit they advertise in the Saturday newspapers.
‘Mr Secretary,’ nodded the second agent, as Titus came down the staircase to the lobby. ‘Everything’s ready. I’m real sorry you had to cut short your fishing.’
‘Well, can’t be helped,smiled Titus, wryly. Over the hotel’s reception desk there was a large stuffed pike, illuminated with a spotlight. The Front Royal Towers had always advertised itself as The Compleat Resort for Anglers’.
They descended the wet stone steps outside. Titus’ official black limousine was parked just outside the wall that surrounded the sun patio. This evening, the sun patio was barely visible, puddled and mossy, with a solitary sundial dripping in the twilight like a forgotten tombstone.
‘I think I’ll travel with Joe, Titus told his Secret Servicemen. ‘Joe? I want to go over some of this RING business with you. Maybe we can work out some angles.’
‘Mr Jasper’s car isn’t bulletproofed, sir,one of the agents pointed out. ‘If there should be any kind of irregularity…’
‘Don’t you love it?’ said Titus, cracking into a grin. They call an assassination attempt an “irregularity”. Well, I can tell you son, the only irregularity that’s going on around here concerns my bowels, and that’s only because of those damned stepchildren of mine occupying both damned bathrooms for hours on end, making-up and shaving and popping their zits while I have to get myself off to the State Department. And let me tell you this is the first time in my life. I was so damned regular in Viet Nam that the USS New Jersey used to fire off its morning
salvo as soon as their lookouts saw my toilet door open. Better than a goddamn naval chronometer.’
The Secret Servicemen shrugged, and walked across to the official limousine with that arms-swinging round-shouldered gait exclusive to bodyguards. Titus climbed into Joe Jasper’s car, and said, ‘How about another one of those cheap cigars of yours, Joe?’ The car’s windshield was beaded with moisture, so Joe switched on the wipers, and cleared it away.
‘I’ve got to tell you, this is the first time I’ve gladly cut a fishing-trip short,said Titus. ‘You’ve got to tell me how you managed to lay your hands on that stuff. That was a stroke of genius. You hear that? I’m paying you a compliment.’
Joe started the engine. The whole thing came to light when I was talking to a man called lacono in Atlantic City. He simply said that he’d met a girl who was boasting that
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