Spencerville

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?”
    “No, the president is meeting me at the Hay-Adams.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Keith got in, and the car pulled away. This town was nuts, he thought. “Nuts.”
    “Sir?”
    “Mr. Adair would like you to go back for him at five.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Keith sat back and watched the windshield wipers. Charlie, of course, was trying some reverse psychology on him. The thing was that Charlie was so convincing with the dragon and rat analogy that Keith was firmly convinced he was making the right decision for the right reasons. “Right.”
    This town had seduced him like the world’s greatest whore, and