The Marching Season

thought you wanted to move on with your life."
    "So did I."
    "Then why are you letting them drag you back in?"
    "Because I miss working! I miss getting up in the morning and having someplace to go."
    "So get a job, if you want. It's been a year since you were shot. You're fully recovered now."
    "There aren't a lot of companies looking for employees with skills like mine."
    "So do some volunteer work. We don't need money."
    "We don't need money because you have a job. An important job."
    "And you want to have an important job too."
    "Yeah, I think helping to bring peace to Northern Ireland would be a fulfilling and rewarding experience."
    "I hate to burst your bubble, but the people of Northern Ireland have been killing each other for a very long time. They'll make peace or make war regardless of what the CIA thinks about it."
    "There is something else," Michael said. "Your father is about to become the potential target of terrorists, and I want to make certain nothing happens to him."
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    "How very noble and selfless of you!" Her eyes flashed. "How dare you drag my father into this? If you want to go back to the Agency, at least have the decency not to use my father as a crutch."
    "I miss it, Elizabeth," he said gently. "It's what I do. I don't know how to do anything else. I don't know how to be anything else."
    "God, that's pathetic. Sometimes I feel so sorry for you. I hate this part of you, Michael. I hate the secrets and the lying. But if I stand in your way—if I put my foot down and say no—then you'll resent me, and I won't be able to stand that."
    "I won't resent you."
    "Have you forgotten you have two infant children sleeping down the hall?"
    "Most fathers with young children also manage to hold down a job."
    She said nothing.
    "Monica says I can work from New York Station a couple of days a week and take the shuttle back and forth the other days."
    "You two seem to have everything all worked out. When would your new best friend like you to start?"
    "Your father's going to be sworn in at the State Department the day after tomorrow. The President wants him in London right away. I thought I would spend a few hours at Headquarters and get settled in."
    Elizabeth stood up and stalked across the room. "Well, congratulations, Michael. Forgive me if I don't crack open a bottle of champagne."
    15
    WASHINGTON        CIA HEADQUARTERS        NEW YORK
    Douglas Cannon was sworn in as the American ambassador to the Court of St. James's during a ceremony on the seventh floor of the State Department. Secretary of State Martin Clar-idge administered the oath, which was the same as the oath for president. Douglas swore to "preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States," and two hundred hastily invited guests burst into applause.
    The ceremonial room at the State Department gives onto a large balcony looking south over the Washington Mall and the Potomac River. The skies were clear and the temperature mild after the brutal cold snap, so after the ceremony most of the guests fled the overheated room for the fresh air outside. The Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial shone in the bright sunlight. Michael stood apart from the crowd, drinking coffee from a dainty china cup and smoking a cigarette for protection. What do you do? is the second line of most
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    conversations in Washington, and Michael wasn't in the mood to tell lies.
    He watched Elizabeth, moving effortlessly through the crowd. She hated growing up in a political family, but it had given her the skills to work a room like an incumbent president. She bantered easily with the secretary of state, several members of Congress, and even a few reporters. Michael was filled with admiration. He had been trained to blend in, to move unseen, to search constantly for trouble. Receptions made him nervous. He sliced his way through the crowd until he arrived at Elizabeth's side.
    "I have to go now," he said, kissing her cheek.
    "When will you be home?"
    "I'll try to make the seven o'clock shuttle."
    One of her old law partners spotted Elizabeth and drew her into conversation. Michael walked away through the brilliant light. He glanced once more at Elizabeth, but she had donned her sunglasses, and Michael couldn't tell whether she was looking at him or her old friend from the firm. Elizabeth had good tradecraft. He had always thought she would have made an excellent spy.
    Michael crossed Memorial Bridge and