Spencerville

"I guess. I'll give it my full consideration."

"But how are you leaning?"

"Forward. I'm trying to read the menu. This conversation is closed."

The drinks came, and Charlie proposed a toast. "To all of us who serve, past, present, and future."

"Cheers."

The waiter took their order.

Charlie asked, "Did you speak to your lady last night?"

"She lives with her husband."

"Oh, right." He chuckled and said, "Ted almost dropped his dentures when you said that. That was pretty funny. I didn't know you were going to say that." He added, "Why did you say that?"

"I felt like it."

They reminisced about old times, talked about the post-Cold War world, guessed about the future. The food came, and they ate. In truth, Keith was enjoying himself. He liked Charlie Adair, he liked to discuss the real issues, he liked his Scotch, and he liked his steak, he could not imagine living here again, but he could imagine getting back into intelligence work, out of the country, maybe someplace where he could actually do some good, but he couldn't think of where that could be. The irony, however, was that he was too far up the ladder to do the fieldwork any longer, and if you said no to the president, you didn't ask for another job. And even if he could wangle a job overseas, it wouldn't be fair to Annie. She had two kids in college in Ohio, and a family in Spencerville. He had to start thinking like a private citizen with private responsibilities and commitments. He said to Charlie, "Why do we still think we have to police the world?"

Charlie replied without hesitation, "Because we still have millions of people on staff and millions of square feet of office space and billions of dollars allocated by Congress. It has nothing to do with idealism, it has to do with office space. If we withdrew from the world stage, this would be a ghost town, and the Jockey Club would close."

"That's a little cynical. People could work in domestic programs. The heartland is dying."

"That's not for people like us. Do you want a job with the Department of the Interior, or Health and Human Services?"

"No."

"There you go. Even if they offered me more money and a higher position at HHS, I'd say no. The glamour jobs have to do with helping foreigners or fucking foreigners." Charlie lit another cigarette and exhaled. "You remember the peace dividend? They fired you so we could have more peace dividend. We were going to rebuild America with that money. It's not happening. We're still trying to run the world. We want to run the world."

"The world can do fine without us."

"Maybe." He looked at Keith and asked, "If the Soviets were still a threat, would you come back?"

"If they were a threat, I wouldn't have been fired."

"Answer the question."

"Yes, I would."

Charlie nodded. "You see, Keith, secretly you're unhappy because the Cold War is over..."

"No."

"Listen to me. You dedicated your life to fighting godless commies, and a lot of people shared your sense of mission. You were a product of the times you grew up in and a product of small-town USA. To you, this was like a holy war, and you were on the side of God and the angels. You were one of the angels. Now Satan and his legions are defeated, we've invaded hell itself and freed the imprisoned souls. Then... what? What? Nothing. Your country doesn't need you to protect it from the forces of evil. You were happier when the devil was alive and the White House was ground zero on a Soviet missile map. You woke up each day in Washington knowing you were on the front lines and were protecting the weak and frightened. You should have seen yourself stride into the office every morning, you should have seen the fire in your eyes when I told you you were going overseas on assignment." Charlie stubbed out his cigarette and said, "The last few years, you looked like a knight who killed the last dragon, sitting around with a bad attitude, refusing to kill the rats in the cellar because it was beneath your manly dignity to do so. You were born and raised for the Battle of Armageddon. It's over now. It was a good war, a lousy victory, and nobody gives a shit anymore. Find something else to excite you."

Keith stayed silent a moment, then replied, "Everything you say is right. Even if I don't want to hear it."

"I'm not telling you anything you don't know. Hey, we should form a government-funded support group called Men Without a Mission."

Keith smiled. "Real men don't join support groups. They keep their problems to themselves."

"My wife wouldn't agree with that." He thought a moment and added, "Sometimes I really think we do need post-Cold War counseling. Like the Vietnam guys. Where's our parade?"

Keith said, "I call your attention to the Cold Warrior's Monument in the Mall."

"There is no Cold Warrior's Monument in the Mall."

"Which is why I call your attention to it."

"Right." Charlie seemed to be thinking, then said, "It's a letdown. But we have to deal with it. Hey, you know what knights did between battles? They perfected the concept of romantic and courtly love. It's not unmanly to be in love, to be chivalrous, to court a woman."

"I know that."

"Does she excite you?"

"Yes."

"Then go for it."

Keith looked at Charlie a moment, then asked, "And the job?"

"Forget it. You have dragons painted on your shield. Don't kill rats in the cellar. That's what they'll remember you for."

"Thanks, Charlie."

They had another drink. Keith asked, "How long does it take an important person like yourself to secure a passport for another party?"

Charlie stirred his fourth or fifth vodka, and replied, "Oh, maybe a few hours if everything's in order. I'll call a friend at the State Department and get it banged through. This is for your lady friend?"

"Yes."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't know. Probably Europe."

"If you're going anyplace strange that needs a visa, let me know. I can get those processed within a day."

"Thanks."

They ordered coffee, brandy, and dessert. It was almost three P.M., but half the tables were still full. It was amazing, Keith thought, how much of the nation's business was done at lunch, cocktails, and dinner. He hoped everyone's head was a lot more clear than his and Charlie's.

Charlie swirled his brandy and said, "I would have resigned for the same reasons, but I have a wife, kids in college, a mortgage, and an expensive restaurant habit. Eventually, though, we'll all be gone, the guys with the hard-gained knowledge of the world will be gone, and the domestic weebs and wonks can move into the NSC offices and run a prenatal-care program for drug-dependent immigrants from Eastern Europe."

"That's better than empty office space."

"Right." Charlie drank his brandy and ordered another.

They finished their meal and Keith said, "I'll take a taxi back to the Hay-Adams."

"No, take the car, and tell the driver to meet me back here at five. I feel like drinking. Can you take a taxi to the airport?"

"Sure." Keith stood. "I'll see you and Katherine tomorrow. I enjoy her company. Yours too, sometimes."

Charlie stood unsteadily and said, "Looking forward to meeting Annie." He added, "The Four Seasons is still on us. Go through the motions, don't feel obligated, and by midweek write Mr. Yadzinski a nice letter of refusal, and you're off to Europe."

"That's the plan."

They shook hands, and Keith left. It was raining harder now, and the doorman went out with his umbrella and found the car and driver around the corner. The driver opened the door and said to Keith, loud enough for the doorman to hear, "Back to the White House, sir?"