They rounded a turn in the hall, started down the well-worn stairs, smoothed and polished by the shoes of hundreds of lawmakers present and past.
“Frankly,” Wheeling confessed, “I didn’t think you’d pull it off. Dramatic appeal and all.”
“I wasn’t sure, either. But it helps if you’ve got a story to work with that you’d like to believe in.”
“That’s a fact,” agreed Wheeling. “Also a help that Brand and Stanislaus are up for re-election this year. And the timely appearance of those two fellows from the Post and Time.”
“Sure, all that contributed, Dave,” agreed the director as they turned down the next hall and nearly bumped into a Secret Service man. “But frankly, if you had come to a hearing before now, I might not have had to wait ten months to push this thing over.”
“Sorry, Marty. You’ve got to remember that I’m retired, and I don’t like to be accused of meddling. Not my place, even from a distance. But that letter was something different. Figured it couldn’t hurt to sit in the back of the bus and smile a little in the right places.
“Now, you make that phone call and we’ll have that drink. And then I’ll beat you another eighteen holes.”
116
A Miracle of Small Fishes
“Not today,” replied Fowler, cracking a broad smile. “I feel so good that I don’t think I’d even have any compunctions about walloping an ex-president.”
He took from his coat pocket the little communicator that linked him with his office and beeped for his aide.
“Sherrie, get me Papadakis.”
Aristophanes Papadakis paced the outside bridge of the factory purse seiner Cetacean and surveyed the darkness. Occasionally a smoke-serpent appeared around the stem of his meerschaum and vanished wraithlike into the crystal Pacific night.