The Marching Season

major party remains—the Americans. Neither side, Republican or Loyalist, has ever intentionally killed an American, but the rules have changed."
    "Twenty years in Washington, and never once did I get a straight answer from a goddamned spook."
    Even Michael had to laugh. "It's not an exact science. Intelligence estimates involve a good deal of conjecture and guesswork, based on available evidence."
    "Sometimes I think pulling petals from a daisy would be just as effective."
    Douglas stopped walking and turned to face the water. His face had turned crimson with the cold and wind. Smith Cove was the color of nickel. A half-empty ferry fought the strong current
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    racing through the narrow channel between the southern tip of Shelter Island and North Haven Peninsula.
    "Damn me for saying this, but I do want one more chance in the spotlight," Douglas said. "I could help make history, and that's pretty seductive for an old professor like me. Even if it means working for a stupid sonofabitch like Jim Beckwith."
    "Elizabeth is going to be furious."
    "I'll deal with Elizabeth."
    "Yeah, but I have to live with her."
    "She's just like her mother, Michael. You never knew Eileen, but if you had, you'd understand where Elizabeth gets her stubbornness and her strength. If it hadn't been for Eileen, I would never have had the courage to leave Columbia and run for Congress."
    Douglas kicked at the stones with the toe of his Wellington boot.
    "You have a phone?"
    Michael reached inside his coat pocket and handed Douglas a cellular telephone. Douglas dialed the President's office directly and left a message with Beckwith's personal secretary. They retraced their course, leaving the sunlight of Smith Cove for the cold shadows of the woods. Five minutes later the telephone chirped. Douglas, who was forever grappling with the complexities of modern communications, thrust the phone at Michael and said, "Answer this damn thing, will you?"
    Michael punched a button on the keypad and said, "Osbourne."
    "Good morning, Michael," said President James Beckwith. "I can't tell you how good it was to see you again last weekend. I'm pleased that you've made such a remarkable recovery. I just wish I could get you back at Langley where you belong."
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    Michael resisted the impulse to warn the President that they were speaking on an insecure cell phone.
    "Has your father-in-law reached a decision?"
    "He has, Mr. President."
    "Good news, I hope."
    "I'll let him tell you."
    Michael handed the phone to Douglas and walked up the path a short distance, so Douglas could speak to the President alone.
    Douglas flew to Washington that evening. He had told Elizabeth of his decision after returning from Mashomack Preserve. She absorbed the news with stoic restraint and gave him a cool congratulatory kiss on the cheek, reserving her anger for Michael, because he had failed to talk Douglas out of accepting the assignment. Michael accompanied Douglas to Washington for the ceremony. The two men stayed in Michael and Elizabeth's old redbrick Federal on N Street and went to the White House the following morning.
    Douglas and Beckwith met in the Oval Office, drinking tea in wing chairs before a fire. Michael had wanted to wait outside, but the President insisted he join them. He sat down on one of the couches, a little apart from the others, and studied his hands while they talked. For five minutes Douglas made the obligatory noises about loyalty and the honor of serving one's country. The President talked about the importance of the U.S.-British relationship and about the situation in Northern Ireland.
    At ten-thirty the two men stepped through the French doors into the Rose Garden. It was a warm winter's day in Washington, the sun bright, the air soft, and the two men strode to the podium side by side wearing suit jackets but no overcoats.
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    "Today, I am proud to nominate former senator Douglas Cannon of New York to be our next ambassador to the Court of St. James's in London," Beckwith said matter-of-factly. "Douglas Cannon served the great state of New York, and the American people, brilliantly in both the House and the Senate. And I know firsthand he possesses the intellect, the strength, and the grace to represent this nation's interests in an important foreign capital such as London."
    Beckwith turned and shook Douglas's hand as the small audience broke into applause. He held out his hand to the podium, and