The issues at stake were cloudy to her. She had no mind, she was the first to admit, for politics. She knew only that what was going on was of life-and-death importance to her Arthur, and that if she saved him, he would save her. He would have to, whether he wanted to or not, and he would want to anyway. They were together in this. Besides, they were in love, not kid love, lifetime love.
In front of her, some jazzed-up darky was starting to splash more champagne into her glass, and she pulled it away and let the rest of the champagne pour on the rug. She did not want to be intoxicated. Too much at stake. What at stake? She relived the highlights of the hectic afternoon.
During lunch, after leading Dilman to his Miss Gibson on the telephone, after leaving him, Sally had deliberately left the door slightly ajar. Why? She did not know. Why not? She had heard what she had heard, not comprehending fully, knowing only that it was something terribly surprising to the President, terribly involved with foreign affairs, and that she must convey to Arthur what she had learned. Whew, it had been close, getting away just in the nick of time. She was certain that Dilman suspected nothing. He was a dimwit, nice but a dimwit, through and through.
The second that she was back in the privacy of her office, she had telephoned Arthur at the Department of State. She did not get far. Brusquely, he had cut her short, asking her not to tell him any more on the telephone, but to come over at once. Pleased to have struck a spark, she had made some excuse to Diane about an errand, and hastened downstairs to her sports car.
When she had arrived at the Department of State and entered Arthur’s marvelous office, she was dismayed. She and Arthur were not alone, as she had expected they would be. A third party, Wayne Talley, was also present. At once, Arthur, perceiving her embarrassment, considerately had placed an arm around her, assuring her that she could speak as freely before Talley as with him.
She had recounted everything that she could recall having “accidentally” overheard of the President’s conversation with Miss Wanda Gibson. When she had mentioned that the President had said he had not “seen any special CIA report like that one,” Arthur’s face darkened and there was a rapid exchange between Talley and himself.
Arthur had said, “Dilman knows. He’ll try to see that CIA report now.”
Talley had said, “There’s none to see.”
“You are certain of that?”
“Arthur, I am positive.”
“Good… I know we have acted in the right. T. C. would have commended us.”
“No question, Arthur. How could we let someone like Dilman have that information-and possibly misuse it? He’d not think of what was best for us, only what would be best for his African friends.”
Then Sally had resumed her story, and when she finished with the news that Dilman was meeting with Scott this afternoon, Arthur had turned to Talley once more.
“Wayne, I’m worried. This could be dynamite.”
“We’ve got the percussion cap.”
“I’m not so sure. Depends on what Scott tells him. I’d give anything to know.”
After promising to meet with Arthur again in the evening, Talley had departed. For Sally, being alone with Arthur was reward enough, but when he also embraced her and kissed her, it was almost too much to bear.
Before leaving, Sally had clung to Arthur briefly. “Honey,” she had whispered, “did you mean it, what you told Governor Talley, about giving anything to know what Dilman and Scott are going to discuss this afternoon?”
“It would be of inestimable importance to me, yes.”
“What if I could find out for you?”
“You find out? How?”
“Never mind-what if I could? That’s something your wife wouldn’t do for you, would she?”
“Kay?” He had smiled wanly. “If she saw a tree about to fall on me, she probably wouldn’t raise her voice.”
“There, then,” Sally had said triumphantly. “You can see I’m not Kay. To me, you’re the most precious person on earth-”
“Darling, I-”
“I mean it, Arthur. Anyway, let me go after this for you.”
“Sally, I wouldn’t want you attempting anything foolish or risky.”
“I wouldn’t be. I’m only saying, I can try to help you, I want to, because I love you.”
“I love you, too, darling.”
“If-if I find out anything, I’ll see you tonight.”
He did not stop her, she remembered. He had told her not to attempt anything risky. He had not told her that he preferred she do nothing at all. Therefore it was important to him, whatever she could learn-and therefore it was equally important to her to learn something for him, for both of them.
She looked up from her glass, and was glad to note, while she was still keyed up, that the after-dinner drinking was coming to an end. There was a spontaneous breaking up of groups, a realigning into couples, a general movement in her direction, toward the exit beside her. They were streaming out of the room now, going down to the East Wing projection room, with its front row of soft armchairs and seven rows of stiffer chairs behind, which they would not more than half fill.
The stocky figure of President Dilman, momentarily separated from General Fortney, drew nearer. He glanced at her, and she stared blearily at him.
“Coming, Miss Watson?” he inquired.
“ ’Fraid not,” she murmured beneath her breath, a trick of underplaying that usually brought her prey, unable to hear her, closer to her to find out what she had said. It worked.
Dilman was beside her. “I didn’t catch what-?”
“Mr. President, do you mind if I skip the movie? I-I’m embarrassed, but ’fraid I drank too much, an’ I feel a bit woozy. Maybe I’d better lie down somewhere, an’ come in for the end of it.”
“Not necessary, Miss Watson. If you don’t feel well, you go home, go to bed.”
“Thank you. Matter of fact, I’m not up to that either yet. Really, if you don’t mind, I’d just like to find a place to rest a few minutes, and then-”
His military aides were cluttering the doorway, and Dilman said absently, “Whatever you think best, Miss Watson. Come down and join us later, if you like. You did a fine job with the dinner. Thank you.”
He was gone. The others were gone. In seconds, the Blue Room was emptied of all but herself and two white-coated waiters retrieving the empty glasses. She waited a short interval, until there was no more sound in the Main Hall outside. Then, setting down her champagne glass, taking up her beaded evening purse, she started to leave the room. At the doorway one of her knees buckled, she staggered, but she quickly recovered, surprised to realize that she was really a trifle woozy after all.
She intended to climb the state staircase, go up the quiet red carpet to the second floor, but then remembered that the glass doors at the top were automatically locked on the inside to anyone approaching from below. Immediately she took the President’s private elevator and, seconds later, emerged into the upstairs foyer.
Cautiously she made her way into the West Hall. She expected to come upon the valet, Beecher, or the housekeeper, Mrs. Crail, and she had her professional excuses prepared. She was almost disappointed when neither one was in sight. She turned left, going past the Yellow Oval Room, going more briskly, ready for any Secret Service man who might accost her and then recognize her. In her brief passage up the corridor she neither saw, nor was seen by, any other person.