"Indeed I do." They shook hands, and Stansfield said, "Delighted you could come."
"Delighted to be invited."
"Come, have a seat." He indicated two chairs at the long dark wooden table where the Cabinet met.
The Cabinet Room, Keith knew, was used for all types of meetings, large or small, when the Cabinet was not meeting. In fact, it was a tightly scheduled conference room, used by various people to impress and/or to intimidate. Colonel Keith Landry might have once been impressed, but never intimidated. Now he was slightly bored and restless.
He looked at Stansfield, a man of about forty, polished and smooth, a man who was truly delighted, mostly with himself.
Stansfield informed them, "The secretary is running a bit late." He said to Keith, "Your old boss, General Watkins, will also join us, as will Colonel Chandler, who is the current aide to the national security advisor."
"And will Mr. Yadzinski also join us?" Keith inquired, using the name of the national security advisor, though in official Washington, the very highest people were referred to by their title, such as "the president," "the secretary of defense," and so forth, as if these people had been transformed from mortals into deities, as in, "The God of War will join us shortly." Then again, the very lowest-ranking people were also referred to by their title, such as "the janitor."
Ted Stansfield replied, "The security advisor will try to join us if he can."
"They're all running a bit late?"
"Well, yes, I suppose they are. Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you."
The three men waited, making small talk as was customary so as not to touch upon anything that would require someone saying something like, "Before you arrived, sir, Mr. Landry and I discussed that, and he informed me," and so forth.
Stansfield inquired, "So, did you enjoy your brief retirement?" Rather than correct the man's use of the past tense and queer the whole charade for Charlie, Keith replied, "I did."
"How were you spending your time?"
"I went back to my hometown and looked up my old girlfriend."
Stansfield smiled. "Did you? And did you rekindle the old flame?"
"Yes, we did."
"Well, that's very interesting, Keith. Do you have any plans?"
"We do. In fact, I'm bringing her to Washington tomorrow."
"How delightful. Why didn't you bring her with you today?"
"Her husband won't be out of town until tomorrow."
Keith felt Charlie kick his foot at the same time Stansfield's idiotic smile dropped. Keith informed Ted Stansfield, "Charlie said it wouldn't be a problem."
"Well... I suppose it..."
Charlie interjected, "The lady in question is in the process of a divorce."
"Ah."
Keith let it go.
The door opened, and in walked General Watkins in mufti, and another man in mufti whom Keith recognized as Colonel Chandler, though they'd rarely had occasion to speak.
Charlie stood, as did Ted Stansfield, though as civilians, they didn't have to. Keith wasn't certain he had to either, but he did, and they shook hands. General Watkins said, "You look good, Keith. The rest did you good. Ready to get back in the saddle?"
"It was a nasty fall, General."
"All the more reason to climb on that horse again."
Keith knew that Watkins was going to say that, but it was his own fault for giving Watkins the opening for his inane reply. Keith didn't know how many more evasive and inane replies he could come up with before they got it.
Ted Stansfield said to Keith, "You probably remember Dick Chandler, whose job you're going to fill. Colonel Chandler is going on to bigger and better things at the Pentagon."
Colonels Landry and Chandler shook hands. The man looked relieved to see his replacement, Keith thought, or perhaps Keith was just imagining it.
Most soldiers didn't like a White House assignment, Keith knew, but it was difficult in peacetime to get yourself out of this place without causing career problems. In wartime, it was somewhat easier: you volunteered to go to the front and get shot at.
General Watkins, Colonel Chandler, Colonel Landry, Mr. Adair, and Mr. Stansfield remained standing, awaiting the imminent arrival of the secretary of defense. Conversation was difficult, Keith noticed, talk in the West Wing was inappropriate if it went on too long, and big talk such as the deteriorating situation in the former Soviet Union was fraught with pitfalls, since anything you said could be construed as official and held against you later. Ted Stansfield saved the day by talking about a new executive directive he'd just read which clarified an earlier directive and had something to do with the worrisome problem of who reports to whom.
Keith switched channels, but the background static brought to mind the organizational chart of the intelligence community. The National Security Council, on which he had served, was headed by the president's assistant for National Security Affairs, known as the national security advisor, whose birth name was Edward Yadzinski. The job they were offering Colonel Landry was that of Mr. Yadzinski's assistant, or perhaps military aide or liaison, with some connection to the secretary of defense, upon whom they all now waited.
This organizational chart, Keith recalled, had these neat labeled boxes and rectangles, all somehow connected by tortuous lines that never crossed and resembled an electronic schematic for a nuclear submarine. Unlike an electronic schematic, however, which had to obey the laws of science to work, the intelligence community chart obeyed no known laws of science, God, or nature, only the laws of man, which were subject to executive whimsy and congressional debate.
That aside, Keith saw no real reason for his old boss, General Watkins, to be present, since Watkins was on the far right side of the chart, over on Seventeenth Street, while Keith was now in the center, a few guys away from the top dog himself. Keith suspected, though, that General Watkins was there to serve a sort of penance for letting Colonel Landry go, which of course was what he'd been ordered to do, but Watkins should have anticipated that, two months later, the president would ask for Colonel Landry by name. Poor General Watkins.
Watkins, of course, did not have to apologize for giving Colonel Landry the heave-ho, but he had to be present at Colonel Landry's rehiring, and he had to smile, or make what passed for a smile. Watkins was thoroughly pissed off, of course, as he had every right to be, but Watkins wouldn't utter a peep.
The center of power, Keith reflected, in any time or place, was by definition a haven for lunatics and lunatic behavior — the Kremlin, Byzantine palace, the Forbidden City, a Roman emperor's villa, the Fuhrerbunker — it didn't matter what it was called and what it looked like from the outside; inside was airless and dark, a breeding ground for progressive madness and increasingly dangerous flights from reality. Keith had a sudden impulse to charge for the door, shouting something about the inmates running the asylum.
General Watkins said, "Keith, you have that smile on your face that used to annoy me."
"I didn't know I was smiling, sir, and never knew it annoyed you."
"That smile was always a prelude to some smart remark. Can we expect one now?"
"General, I'd like to take this opportunity to..."
Charlie Adair interrupted. "Keith, perhaps you'd like to hold that thought for another time."
Keith thought the time was perfect to tell Watkins what he thought of him, but at that moment the door opened, and the secretary of defense ambled in. He was a slight, balding man with spectacles, not the type you'd guess would be head of the most powerful military machine on the face of the earth. And his meek appearance didn't mask a strong personality — there was no Mars, God of War, lurking in that frail body. He looked like a milksop, and he was a milksop.
Ted Stansfield presented the secretary of defense, who smiled, shook hands all around, and said to Keith, "Delighted you could come."