The Marching Season

nine-thirty the chartered bus bearing the White House press corps arrived at the Manhanset Inn. The reporters staggered into Jake Ashcroft's plundered dining room like refugees at a processing center.
    And so everything seemed to be in place shortly after 10 A.M. when the muffled thump-thump-thump of a helicopter rotor could be heard from the direction of Little Peconic Bay. The day had dawned overcast and damp, but by midmorning the last of the clouds had burned away, and the east end of Long Island
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    sparkled in the brilliant winter sun. An American flag flapped in the wind on Chequit Point. A huge banner saying welcome president BECKWITH lay on the roof of the Shelter Island Yacht Club, so the chief executive could read it as the helicopter passed overhead. Crowds of islanders lined Shore Road, and the high school band played a spirited if disjointed rendition of "Hail to the Chief."
    Marine One passed over Nassau Point and Great Hog Neck. It swept low over the waters of Southold Bay, then over land once more at Conkling Point. The crowd on Shore Road caught first sight of the President's helicopter as it hovered over Shelter Island Sound. The waterborne network news crews aimed their cameras at the sky and began rolling. Marine One floated over Dering Harbor, the beat of the rotor making ripples on the surface of the water, then set down on the lawn of Cannon Point, just beyond the bulkhead.
    Douglas Cannon was waiting there, along with Elizabeth and Michael and his two retrievers. The dogs raced forward as James and Anne Beckwith disembarked from the helicopter, dressed for the country in pressed khakis and hunter-green English waterproof j ackets.
    A small group of reporters—the so-called tight pool—had been allowed onto the property to witness the arrival. "Why are you here?" shouted a leather-lunged correspondent from ABC News.
    "We just wanted to spend some time in the country with an old friend," the President shouted back, smiling.
    "Where are you going now?"
    Douglas Cannon stepped forward. "We're going to church."
    First Lady Anne Beckwith—or Lady Anne Beckwith, as she was known among Washington's chattering classes—was visibly taken aback by the senator's remark. Like her husband, she was
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    a borderline atheist who detested the weekly journey across Lafayette Square to St. John's Episcopal Church for an hour of mouthed prayer and false reflection. But ten minutes later a makeshift motorcade was roaring along Manhanset Road toward St. Mary's. Soon the two old adversaries stood shoulder to shoulder in the front pew—Beckwith in his blue blazer, Cannon in a threadbare tweed jacket with holes in the elbows—belting out "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God."
    At noon Beckwith and Cannon decided a short sail was in order, even though it was barely 40 degrees and a fifteen-mile-per-hour wind was blowing across Shelter Island Sound. Much to the dismay of the Secret Service, the two men boarded Athena and set out.
    They stayed under power through the narrow channel separating Shelter Island from the North Fork of Long Island, then pulled up the sails as Athena entered the open waters of Gar-diners Bay. Behind them were a Coast Guard cutter, two Boston Whalers filled with Secret Service agents, and a half-dozen press boats. There was one mishap; CNN's rented Zodiac took on water and sank off the rocks of Cornelius Point.
    "All right, Mr. President," Douglas Cannon said. "Now that we've given the media lots of nice pictures, why don't you tell me what the hell this is all about."
    The Athena was flying across Gardiners Bay toward Plum Island on a broad reach, heeling nicely on its starboard side. Cannon sat behind the wheel, Beckwith in the seating compartment behind the companionway. "We were never the best of friends, Mr. President. In fact, I think the only social event we ever attended together was my wife's funeral."
    "We were competitors when we were in the Senate," Beck-
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    with said. "It was a long time ago. And drop the Mr. President bullshit, Douglas. We've known each other too long for that."
    "We were never competitors, Jim. From the moment you and Anne arrived in Washington, you had your sights on the White House. I just wanted to stay in the Senate and make laws. I liked being a legislator."
    "And you were a damned good legislator. One of the best ever."
    "I appreciate that, Jim." Cannon looked at his sails and frowned. "That jib is